


Fatal Error

by BigBloodyShip



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: AU, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Explicit Language, Inaccuracy Abound!, Kidnapping, M/M, May add more warnings later on, Torture, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigBloodyShip/pseuds/BigBloodyShip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of a mission gone terribly wrong, resulting in one of the worst disasters in MI6's history, James Bond is ordered to go after the responsible party. He expects to find a criminal mastermind - and instead, finds a terrified young hacker who calls himself "Q." Now he must find a way to navigate the web of deceit that has somehow been woven around them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Incident

**Author's Note:**

> I know I shouldn't be posting a new fic when I'm still in the middle of another chaptered fic, but I thought, why not just get the ball rolling? Especially since I've hit a wall in my other fic - but not to worry, for those of you that have been reading it, everything will be sorted shortly! For the time being, here's the first part of something new, for your reading pleasure. Or displeasure. (More likely the latter.)
> 
> For the sake of the story, we're going to pretend the Q we know and love does not work for MI6. Which gives away some of the plot, I guess, but I'm willing to bet that you all already saw that coming.

There had been no reason to believe that anything could have gone awry that day. 

So why had James Bond been there in the first place? 

Placing an MI6 agent – a Double-0 agent, to be precise – had been a precautionary measure, in case there was trouble. Not that they had truly been expecting anything. This was routine. This was normal. They always had someone discretely keeping close whenever a prominent political figure was making a public appearance, just in case. 

Incidentally, James Bond had been the one who was assigned to keep an eye on the PM as he made some sort of goodwill appearance at the opening of a new children’s charity. James was to follow him from Westminster all the way to the location where the event was to be held, and then keep an eye on him until the event was over.

Normally, this sort of assignment was not something James would be assigned to do, nor was it even something he would want to do, but an unusually long period of not having any significant missions had left him itching for something to keep busy with, and M had subsequently given the job to him.

Compared to the shit James normally went through on his missions, this would practically be a holiday.

Naturally, James wasn’t complaining as he trailed behind the car carrying the PM off to the event location in a car of his own, a relatively unassuming vehicle that had been provided by MI6. He had his earpiece in, listening closely to some techie from Q-Branch by the name of Miller or something of the sort guiding him along. Honestly, it was totally unnecessary. He didn’t need someone telling him where to go. He had eyes, after all, and was perfectly capable of following behind the PM’s car on his own.

He couldn't help but yawn.

This was going to be far too easy.

When comms suddenly cut out a second later, it should have raised red flags immediately.

But James thought nothing of it. Q-Branch was always bumbling around. This sort of thing happened all the time. He was used to it. It was nothing to be concerned about at all.

It was perfectly normal.

A moment later, the earpiece crackled back to life. The voice addressing him now was completely different from Miller’s. Or had it been Mitchell? Or Mason? Whatever it was, James didn’t particularly care.

“Agent 007?”

“I’m still here.”

“Sorry about that. Hiccup in the system. We accidentally disconnected your earpiece, but we’re back online now, obviously. You’ve been re-connected to me.”

“I see,” James answered dryly as he turned the car around a corner, keeping his eyes on the PM’s vehicle, “And who might you be?”

“It’s Smith.”

James had never heard of anyone in Q-Branch by the name of Smith. Then again, he hardly knew the names of any of its employees. He only ever really interacted with the quartermaster on a face-to-face level.

He wasn’t going to lie, though. He much preferred this Smith person’s voice to that of Miller – or whatever the hell his name had been. Smith’s voice was smoother, with carefully tailored syllables and elegant, refined edges. Probably educated at Oxford or Cambridge, much like many of the other little geniuses that operated Q-Branch.   

“007?” came Smith’s voice again through the earpiece, “We’re going to have to ask you to take a detour. Something’s caught our eye.”

“Lead the way.”

“Right,” Smith answered, “Turn left at the next intersection.”

With a shrug, James did as told.

“Is it something to be worried about?” he asked.

“We don’t know yet. We’re working on getting some more information. Turn left here.”

“Where exactly am I going?”

“Left again.”

“And then?”

“Just keep going straight until I tell you turn.”

With an annoyed sigh, James turned the car around the corner. Damn Q-Branch. They were always like this. He was getting fed up, to be honest. The quartermaster really needed to set his subordinates straight.

“And left another time.”

James scowled.

“Are you taking me in circles, Smith?”

“No. I promise you there’s a reason for all of this.”

“And, pray tell, what would that reason be?”

Smith hesitated for a moment on the other side of the line.

“Oh. We’ve lost the trail.”

James slammed on the brakes, stopping the car immediately in the middle of the road. Another car behind him jerked to a stop, tyres squealing in protest as its driver swore loudly, but James paid him no mind.

“What do you mean, you’ve lost the trail? What trail? Where the bloody hell were you trying to take me?”

“It’s nothing,” Smith replied quickly, “We made a mistake.”

“This is bloody ridiculous.”

“I’m apologise, 007. You may return to the original route now.”

“Good,” James muttered under his breath.

“Actually, that won’t be necessary. We’ve received new instructions asking you to return to HQ. Another agent’s been assigned to take your place.”

“For God’s sake, Smith, will you stop wasting my time?”

“I’m sorry,” Smith said, and he genuinely sounded rather apologetic, though his voice remained even and professional, “I’m only relaying orders from higher up. There’s no need to shoot the messenger.”

“Right,” James growled, “Fine.” He tore the earpiece from his hear, tossing it aside, deciding that he was through with Q-Branch’s incompetence for the time being. Otherwise, his annoyance might cause him to throttle someone later.

 

* * *

 

Upon returning to HQ, it didn’t take him very long at all to realise that something terribly wrong had occurred while he had been away.

The entirety of MI6 seemed in disarray. Phones were ringing non-stop, loud and shrill, with people scrambling to answer them. Members from every branch of MI6 were running back and forth, shouting to be heard above the deafening commotion. Someone was crying. Papers were flying everywhere. The phones kept ringing. Tanner was trying desperately to maintain order, and failing spectacularly.

It was all beginning to give James one hell of a migraine.

And then there was M.

Her face was ashen, and she looked as if she had aged ten or more years since James had last seen her just three hours prior. When she caught sight of James, her expression became even grimmer – if that was at all possible – as she made her way through the chaos towards James.

“Where were you, 007?” M demanded fiercely, glowering at James like a teacher admonishing a schoolboy. “It’s a bloody _mess_ in here. What the hell happened? Why weren’t you on the scene?” 

She was a formidable woman indeed, but while James (usually) had nothing but the utmost respect for her, he was not intimidated by her. He’d long since grown accustomed to her frigid stares and biting tone.

"I was exactly where I was told to be.”

“You were told to follow and watch over the PM.”

“Right,” James answered impatiently, “And then I was told to make a detour because someone in Q-Branch had messed up.”

M stared at him blankly.

“Detour?”

“Yes. Detour. I was in contact with Q-Branch for the entire time, save the few seconds when the connection was disrupted.”

“Who were you speaking to?”

“….Miller. I think. And then someone named Smith.”

A disconcerting, uncomfortable silence hung in the air between them for a long, painful moment.

“007,” M finally said curtly, “There is nobody in Q-Branch by the name of Smith.”

“Then who the hell was I talking to? What’s happened?”

M paused, face hardening. James stared at her in utter confusion. Something had obviously gone very wrong indeed, otherwise MI6 wouldn’t be thrown into such an utter state of panic. And he had apparently been speaking with someone who didn’t exist – someone who had led him on a wild goose chase to nowhere.

“The PM has been shot, 007. He was getting out of the car when a bullet went straight into his skull. He was killed instantly.”


	2. The Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you can't tell, I am absolutely clueless when it comes to computers. So there's probably about a million fallacies in one paragraph alone.

The following day, James was called into M’s office for a private meeting. 

Apparently, “private” also meant the inclusion of Tanner and Agent 006 – Alec Trevelyan. 

James knew Alec well. They’d been on several missions together in the past and worked very efficiently as a team. He was a competent agent, one of the Double-0s who James had the most respect for. He was known to pursue marks with a sort of dogged, almost aggressive determination, and always achieved results. That was the sort of thing that made a good agent, and that was the sort of man that James could work well with. 

“There’s absolutely no time to waste,” M told James as he entered, gesturing to an empty chair, “Have a seat. We’ll get started straight away.” As James sat down, M nodded at Tanner, indicating for him to begin. 

“We’ve found that someone – our friend ‘Smith’ –  hijacked your frequency yesterday as you were on your assignment,” Tanner explained, “At the same time, he had also somehow hacked into Q-Branch’s computers and scrambled the system so we’d be unable to re-establish communications with you. Now, that’s extremely worrying. Nobody should be able to get past the firewalls that easily. We have every reason to believe this was directly related to the PM’s assassination. It was a distraction for you so the sniper could work uninterrupted. Hackers leave an electronic signature of sorts, but ‘Smith’ is very, very clever. Too clever. He was already in our system long before disrupting comms. That’s how he knew which agent had been assigned to keep an eye on the PM. But it’d been with a completely different type of code. He’s so good that we didn’t even detect the breach until hours later.”

“Then how do you know it’s the same person?” 

“Because,” Tanner answered, “Clever ‘Smith’ has made a very elementary mistake indeed.” 

“And what would that be?” 

“Forgetting to cover his tracks. We were able to trace the signal to one source. However, the source keeps moving around, though remaining the same – so we assume it may be a laptop computer kept on the hacker’s person.” 

“That’s where you come in, 007,” M said, “Here’s a chance to redeem yourself, if you will. There are a hundred people on our arse right now, threatening to shut us down because of our failure. Now’s the time for us to set everything right and find out who did this. You’ve heard the hacker’s voice. You can identify him. You’ll be working with 006 to apprehend him. If the hacker is as smart as we think he is, then he’ll doubtlessly recognise your voice. So we’ll have you standby, keeping communication with 006, who will do the physical work. We want him alive. He can’t be doing this all alone. Complex assassination plots are rarely a solo project. We’ll need to extract information from him, so you will wait for 006 in an empty garage we’ve sorted for you. He will bring the mark there for questioning.”

“Got it.”

“If there are no further questions,” she continued, voice hard, “Then you two are dismissed. We want this completed within ten hours.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

* * *

 

Alec first drove James to the designated garage, then headed off towards the West End by himself. Assuming Tanner was correct, then the mark could be traced to a lounge located in the vicinity.

Naturally, Alec was dressed in a sharp jacket and shiny new shoes. He’d long since retired from the trendy lounge scene, but he had to play the part, lest he draw suspicion. But it did feel a bit silly – he felt as if he was getting too old for all of this. But to be honest, he wasn’t sure what to expect. He had no idea what sort of a person had the ability to break into MI6’s computer systems as if it was no more difficult than tying one’s shoelaces. 

All he knew was that this person was a criminal partially responsible for the assassination of the PM, and that he needed to catch the bastard immediately and give him a piece of his mind. 

“This thing working?” Alec asked, tapping his ear as he made his way inside the lounge. The earpiece he’d been issued was very discrete indeed, a little technological beauty provided by the boffins at Q-Branch. Unless someone was looking very closely, they’d never be able to detect it. “Can you hear everything from my end?”

“Yeah,” came James’ voice through the earpiece, “Everything sounds fine.”

“Good. Let’s catch the slimy little bugger.”

Alec let his gaze sweep the dimly lit room as he scanned it for anything suspicious. For mid-afternoon when most of London was still trawling away in their cramped little offices, there was a surprisingly large amount of people present. The lights were very dim and most of the furniture seemed to be made of either synthetic leather or some dark velvety material. The walls were painted in a seductive, sensual shade of crimson, and sultry jazz notes floated languidly through the air.

It all had a very swanky air around it – but in an artificial, manufactured sort of way.

Alec promptly decided he didn’t like it.

An attractive woman sitting at a table in a glittering, form-fitting black cocktail dress flashed Alec a smile, but he paid her no mind. There was no time for distractions, no matter how tempting. Perhaps he’d come back on the weekend for that sort of thing.

That was when he spotted someone seated at the bar, tapping furiously away at a mobile phone. Next to him, there was a laptop bag on the ground, propped against the legs of the barstool he was sitting on. From the back, all Alec could make out was a dark mop of wild curls and a thin, cardigan-clad frame.

Was this “Smith”? The person who had hacked MI6 and lured 007 away from his route?

There was only one way to find out.

Alec made his way over to the bar, sitting down in the empty seat next to the suspect.

“Vodka tonic,” he called out, gesturing to the barkeep, who gave him a nod to show that he’d heard.

Alec glanced at the person sitting next to him, intending to get a good look.

He realised, very quickly, that he was sitting next to a scrawny, bespectacled boy who could not be older than twenty-five at most.

Surely, this couldn’t be the person who had effortlessly hacked into MI6.

The boy seemed to notice Alec staring, and he slipped his mobile into his back pocket, turning his attention to the drink in his other hand. He turned his body ever-so-slightly away in poorly concealed discomfort, eyes flicking towards Alec and then quickly back to his drink.

Interesting, Alec thought. A suspicious reaction. The kid was on edge – jittery, even. He looked a little spooked, and most definitely on his guard. He probably knew that someone would come looking for him, especially in light of the previous day’s events. 

Alec was distracted momentarily as the barkeep placed his order down in front of him. Gratefully, Alec took the alcohol, passing over his payment, and took a long, deep swig. He then looked back at the boy next to him, flashing his friendliest smile.

“What’re you drinking?”

The boy hesitantly turned to look at him. Now Alec could see that the boy was actually rather pretty, in a youthful, almost ethereal manner, as if he’d leapt off the page of some fairy story and had been tossed into a cardigan and trousers. His eyes were large and intelligent and fringed with long lashes – paired with his delicate build and spindly limbs, they gave him the appearance of a newborn deer. And then Alec soon found his own gaze wandering toward a set of lips that were coloured in such a way that they looked like they had just been bitten.

He was, much to Alec’s annoyance, very tempting.

“I don’t think it’s any concern of yours, sir,” the boy finally said, regarding Alec with a cautious, calculating gaze, as if he was trying to decide whether he was friend or foe. Alec felt immediately irritated by his snark, but didn’t let it show.

“Come on, now,” he laughed, keeping his posture casual and amiable, “I’m only trying to be friendly. What’s your name?”

The boy hesitated.

“It’s Q.”

“That’s him,” came James’ voice suddenly through the earpiece, “It’s definitely him. He sounds exactly like whoever I was talking to yesterday. I’d recognise that voice anywhere.”

And Alec could see why. It was a very, _very_ lovely voice.

“Q?” he repeated, “Is that a nickname or something? That can’t be your real name, can it? Come on, don’t be shy. I just want to know your name.”

The boy who called himself “Q” gave Alec an indecipherable look before reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, putting it between his lips. He reached back into his pocket, searching for a lighter.

“Let me,” Alec smiled, glad that he kept always had a lighter on hand, despite the fact that he’d been trying to quit smoking. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling it out and leaning forward to light Q’s cigarette.

“Thank you,” Q muttered, though he didn’t look interested at all in continuing the conversation. Alec watched as Q held the cigarette between two long, elegant fingers, a stream of smoke making its way past those sinful lips of his and curling lazily into long grey tendrils before dissipating into the air around them. There was something strangely entrancing about the way the smoke caressed his cheeks, but Alec paid it no mind. Now was not the time to get distracted by a pretty face. He needed to step up his game – charm the kid, flatter him a little, get him to let his guard down and wait for him to slip up before taking advantage of a weak spot.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he offered, hoping his usual lines would work. They were clichéd, of course, but tried and true.

“No, thank you, sir,” Q replied curtly, voice strangely soft, before taking another drag from the cigarette. Alec did not miss the way his fingers trembled minutely as he placed the cigarette back between his lips.

“Come on. One drink. What do you like?”

“I said, no thank you.”

“Could I have your real name, then?”

“You’re awfully determined to stick your nose into things that are not your business, aren’t you?” Q asked with a wry smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

“I like to make it my business, especially when I’m dealing with someone as pretty as you,” Alec responded with what he hoped was a charming grin.

Q did not look impressed. He was trying to maintain a poker face, and wasn’t doing a terrible job, but Alec had done this a million times before. He was not fooled for an instant. He could hear the nervousness in Q’s voice, the almost undetectable quaver, and he could see it clearly in his body language. That nervousness was bordering fear. Fear of what, though? Of him?

“Get a move on,” he heard James snap, “Stop flirting.”

“You’re one to talk,” Alec muttered back.

“Pardon?” Q asked.

“Nothing,” Alec replied quickly, “Just clearing my throat.”

Q didn’t look convinced. In fact, his entire body had tensed up as he watched Alec with a heightened sense of suspicion, like a deer who could feel the presence of a hunter close by. Alec saw Q’s gaze flicker briefly towards his ear – had he seen the earpiece?

“Heavens,” Q suddenly said with a shaky smile, “Is that the time? I’m sorry. I really have to go now.” He snuffed out the cigarette in an ash tray, quickly getting off the barstool and snatching up his laptop bag before hastily turning to go.

Alec reacted quickly. Before the boy could so much as take another step, he reached out and grabbed him by the wrist, effectively stopping him from fleeing.

The game was over. Q obviously could not be charmed, so it was time to switch tactics and play off of his evident fear.

Q let out a startled gasp as Alec leaned towards him, lips nearly brushing his ear as spoke in a low voice.

“Listen here, you little bitch,” Alec hissed, “I know who you are and what you’ve done. Now, unless you want me wrecking that pretty face of yours, you’re going to come with me. You’ll follow me out and get into my car, and you won’t ask any questions.”

“I – I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Q tried to pull away from him, but Alec only jerked on his wrist, bringing him even closer.

“Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Is there a problem?” the barkeep interjected suddenly, scowling as he folded his arms over his chest, “Look, mate, he’s obviously not interested, so leave the kid alone, will you? If you don’t get your hands off of him within five seconds, I’m going to call the police.”

Reluctantly, Alec released his grip on Q’s wrist. It was best not to cause a scene. Besides, he was confident that Q could not escape him.

As soon as he let go, the boy turned around and immediately made his way towards the door in what was almost a run.

“Mark is moving,” Alec muttered, “I’m going after him.”

“Just make sure you don’t lose him,” James answered in annoyance.

“Don’t worry. I won’t. His skinny little legs won’t carry him far.”


	3. The Questions

Alec ducked out of the lounge, head whipping back and forth as he scanned the street for the boy. He spotted him only a few metres away, walking at a brisk pace. Shoving past a group of pedestrians, Alec started after him, keeping his eyes glued to his target. He couldn’t afford to lose him now.

He was gaining speed, moving towards Q in large, quick strides. The boy, clutching his laptop bag to his chest, quickened his pace, obviously aware that he was being followed. Even though he was walking as quickly as he could, however, he was no match for Alec.

Alec was a field agent. This was what he did. He chased people.

And most of the time, he caught those people.

He watched the hacker cross the street, and ignoring oncoming traffic, Alec followed. A car swerved around him, nearly hitting him, but Alec paid it no mind, weaving his way past the cars in the street before stepping back onto pavement, eyes still glued to Q. The boy turned sharply into an alley, and Alec increased his speed, walking into the alley after him.

What a fool, Alec thought. The silly little boy actually thought he had a chance of shaking him off of his trail.

Q looked over his shoulder, seeing Alec gaining on him, and broke out into a desperate run, as if he thought he’d be safe if he could just get a little further away. Now Alec was sure this was the person who had hijacked James’ frequency the previous day. If he was running from him, then he obviously didn’t want to be caught – because he knew he’d have to answer to what he had done.

Alec sprinted after him, catching up to him with ease. The hacker was certainly no Olympic runner. He reached out and grabbed Q by the shoulder, throwing him against the side of the alley with a violent, forceful movement. The boy yelped as he collided with the brick wall, falling onto the ground. The laptop bag flew out of his arms, and he reached frantically for it, but Alec was upon him in an instant.

He kicked the laptop out of Q’s reach before reaching down to grab him by one of his scrawny arms, jerking him roughly to his feet. Q opened his mouth to scream for help, but Alec clapped a hand over it, instantly stifling his cries. The boy struggled wildly, but as expected from someone with such a skinny, spindly little frame, his thrashing presented no challenge at all – like a poor little rabbit ensnared in a trap. Alec could snap him right in half like a toothpick if he was so inclined.

He let a heavy, brutal blow fall upon the back of Q’s skull, and in an instant, the boy was slumped limply in his arms, ceasing all attempts of resistance.

Victorious, the agent picked Q’s laptop bag up off the ground and slung it over his shoulder before making his way back towards where he had parked his car, the unconscious hacker in tow.

 

* * *

 

James paced the floor of the garage impatiently, stopping every now and then only to check his watch.

It had been thirty minutes since Alec had last been in contact with him. Of course, thirty minutes isn’t too long of a period of time, but it is when one is waiting for a criminal to be apprehended.

James had to admit he was a rather prideful man. At this point, he wanted nothing more than to look at the person who had tricked him the other day and make him realise he was going to pay for what he did, so James could watch all hope fade from his eyes. James Bond had broken plenty of men before in his life, and he intended to do the same to their good friend “Smith.”

Or “Q,” as he had identified himself.

He had no idea what to expect from this “Q” – his accent had been impeccable and indicated that he was well-raised with an immaculate upbringing, but if there was one thing that James had learned from years in the field, then it was that one could never be sure with these types. The accent could very well be an act. He’d seen things like it before. So James honestly had no idea what they were dealing with here. Was he to expect a moustache-twirling continental villain, or a unsavoury home-grown Englishman?

And there was his “name” to consider. “Q” was the codename they used for their quartermaster at MI6. Was it deliberate? A mocking jab, perhaps, as the hacker easily bypassed Q-Branch’s firewalls. Or was the name merely coincidence? Something told James it was more likely the former.

James looked back at his watch. Thirty-five minutes.

Suddenly, one of the doors burst open, and Alec appeared, looking relatively unruffled – he looked smart and suave, with not a hair out of place. Pursuit of the mark had been easy, apparently. Over one shoulder, he carried a laptop bag – presumably belonging to the man who had hacked MI6 – and with his other arm, he carried an unconscious figure, who he deposited unceremoniously on the concrete floor.

James raised an eyebrow.

So _this_ was Q.

“Christ, 006,” he finally said, “You’ve kidnapped a bloody _child_.”

“You said it was him,” Alec retorted, “You said you recognised his voice.”

James was appalled. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected the hacker responsible for the previous day’s events to be so…young. A wave of humiliation washed over him as he realised he’d been made a fool by a _kid_ , which he quickly shook off. Now was not the time for egos. They needed answers.

The boy on the floor began to stir, blinking blearily, his spectacles askew. All gangly limbs and messy hair and hopelessly large eyes magnified by the lenses of the spectacles, he made rather a pitiful sight. He had only just managed to push himself into a sitting position, arms wobbling as he feebly tried to support himself, when Alec was upon him again.

“What’s your name?” Alec demanded, grabbing Q by the collar and hoisting him into a chair, forcing him to sit. The boy was in no way capable of resisting, but nevertheless he remained silent, looking from Alec to James and back to Alec in mute terror.

“I asked you a question!” Alec shouted, raising a hand to hit him, and Q tried to shield his face in such a pitifully futile manner that James almost felt sorry for him. But then he remembered that this boy had tricked him the other day, and all sympathy vanished. To be completely honest, if they didn’t need answers from him, then he wouldn’t even care if Alec killed him right on the spot. In fact, he might be tempted to do so himself. He briefly let his mind wander to how easy it would be to snap the hacker's scrawny little neck - and how _good_ it would feel.

Alec struck Q hard across the face, nearly knocking him out of the chair. The spectacles flew off his nose and onto the ground, skidding across the concrete.

“Not so snarky now, are we?” the agent growled, “Tell me your name, or I personally guarantee you that I will _hurt_ you in ways you never even fucking knew a person could.”

“I already told you,” the boy whimpered, cowering in the chair, “It’s Q.”

“Q?” Alec repeated, “Q? Like ‘quartermaster’? Is this some kind of fucking joke!? Are you trying to wind me up?”

Something about this didn’t feel right to James. It was strange. Q had seemed so different when he was speaking with Alec at the lounge - a little nervous, maybe, but still self-assured. Now that he'd been caught, it was an entirely different story. Q was obviously terrified, scared half out of his wits. This was not a criminal mastermind who had plotted the death of the PM. This was a frightened boy who somehow figured into the scheme – perhaps forced into giving his services to someone who did have the capability to execute such a heinous crime, and told by that person to put on an act.

“My name is Q,” the boy insisted frantically as if he was pleading, “It’s Q, my name is Q.”

“Your real name!” Alec shouted, eyes boiling with rage, “I’m not fucking around, kid, do you understand? What’s your real name!?”

“I – I don’t know,” Q stuttered, “I’ve never been called anything else, I –”

“That’s horse shit,” Alec snarled, grabbing viciously Q by the throat, “Do you think I’m stupid? I’m going to ask you one more time. What is your real name?”

“I don’t know!” the hacker cried desperately, gasping for air, “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!” His eyes darted wildly back and forth as he clutched feebly at Alec’s fingers that were curled in a vice-like grip around his scrawny throat in a futile attempt to remove them.

Alec backhanded him again before kicking the chair over. James watched wordlessly as Q toppled to the ground with a pathetic sob before Alec stooped down, jerking him forcefully to his knees by the sleeve.

There were dark bruises already blooming on the boy’s throat from where Alec had grabbed him, but, oddly enough, James did not pity him, helpless as he looked.

Q deserved it, James told himself, he deserved all of it. What he had done was unforgivable and despicable, whether or not he had been coerced into it, and regardless of how young he might be.

“Are you really trying to tell me that you don’t know your own name? Tell me the truth,” Alec threatened, “Or I’m going to snap all the bones in your skinny little arms.” He shook Q hard, and the boy’s body and limbs flopped about as if he was a rag doll.

“I don’t know!” Q wailed again like a broken record, voice shrill, “I swear to God I don’t know!’

Alec’s grip tightened around the boy’s wrist, threatening to shatter the frail bones. Q’s eyes grew wide, looking frantically towards James in a silent plea, and despite himself, that was the moment when James found himself compelled to interject.

He reached out and grabbed Alec by the shoulder, meeting his gaze.

“That’s enough,” he said, voice dead serious, “I think he _is_ telling the truth.”

“What?” Alec scoffed, “You think his name really is Q?”

“No. But that might be the only name he knows.”

“I don't follow.”

“Just let me talk to him.”

Alec hesitated, before reluctantly releasing Q’s wrist with a scowl. He gave Q a sharp kick to the ribs, earning a whimper, before letting James take his place.

Slowly, James knelt on one knee next to Q. The boy was trembling, eyes glued fearfully to the ground as he feebly covered his head with his arms, expecting another blow. When none came, he slowly lowered them, body still shaking, but his eyes remained on the ground.

James reached out to tilt the boy’s face upwards, forcing him to look at him. Alec had hit him with enough force to split his lip, and a stream of blood trickled down his chin and was dripping onto his cardigan. James elected to ignore the blood.

Were it not for the wild fear that seemed to jolt through every fibre of Q’s quivering body, James was sure he would actually be very pretty. He had to admit the boy was full of the appeal of youthful, virginal innocence – exactly the sort of thing that might tempt him, or anyone else, for that matter. He had that air to him, a strangely alluring helplessness that stirred some sort of primal desire within the deepest recesses of James’ mind, awakening that slumbering part of him – something dark and carnal.

Fortunately, while he did have his vices, James considered himself to be a man easily capable of exercising restraint. He was a professional, after all. But the irritating temptation the boy presented only served to make James even more determined to make him sorry for what he had done.

“Q, is it?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Do you remember me? We spoke yesterday.”

The hacker nodded.

“Agent 007,” he whispered. His entire body was tense, fully expecting James to strike him, eyes frightened and moist. It certainly looked as if he would burst into tears at any given moment.

“You didn’t hijack my frequency because you wanted to,” James stated, “You did it because you were told to, didn’t you?”

Q was silent.

“Look, I’m not going to hurt you, all right? But I need you to answer me. Who told you to do it? And why did you listen to them? Were you threatened?”

“He will kill me if I answer you,” Q finally said, voice faint and fearful.

“Who?” James asked, “Your employer?”

“I-If you could even call him that. Please, I’m begging you. You have to let me go. He’ll kill me if he knows I’ve been talking to you, too.”

“No,” James told him, putting his hands on Q’s shoulders and looking directly into his wide, scared eyes, “No, he won’t. Because we’re going to protect you, OK? If you help us, then we’re going to help you.”

James was not doing this out of pity.

This kid had tricked him and had managed to distract him from his assignment of protecting the PM. Because of this kid, the PM was dead. James felt no sympathy for the boy. He deserved every bit of Alec’s rough and rather cruel treatment. But James was a rational man, and he knew that it was useless trying to ask the skinny little hacker questions that he didn’t know the answers to. No amount of threatening or torture could make him produce that kind of information. But he could still be very useful.

He crossed the room to where Q’s spectacles had fallen, retrieving them and making his way back to where the hacker sat. Surprisingly, the lenses had not cracked. He handed them back to Q, who hesitantly took them, quietly putting them back on.

“So, what will it be, Q? Do you want us to help you?”

Slowly, Q nodded.

“Good. Now I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer me truthfully, do you understand? If you don’t know the answers, then don’t be afraid to say so. But I will know if you are lying to me. I need you to tell me the truth and try your best to answer. Can you do that for me, Q?”

He nodded again.

“How old are you, Q?” James asked.

“I don’t know.”

“How long have you worked for your employer?”

“….I…I don’t know.”

“Do you know when you started?”

“I’ve always been with him, for as long as I can remember.”

“Where did you learn how to use a computer?” James pressed on, “And where did you learn to hack other computers?”

“He taught me.”

“And what is his name?”

Q hesitated, his gaze flickering back to the ground, unable to bring himself to look at James in the face. James watched him carefully, and he could see the boy trembling, his bottom lip quavering.

“…I don’t know.”

James frowned.

“You’re lying. Tell me his name, Q.”

Q bit down hard on his bottom lip, fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles turned a ghostly white. Slowly, he looked back up at James, and something in James’ chest twisted hard when he saw the vast fear in those big, frightened doe eyes. Q opened his mouth, trying to speak, but no words came out. He licked his lips in apprehension, and swallowed hard before finally managing to utter a single name –

“Raoul Silva.”


	4. The Bargain

_Raoul Silva_. 

They had a name now – a name that James had never heard before in his entire life. He glanced towards Alec, who nodded to show that he’d taken note. This would have to be reported to MI6 immediately.

But Q still had his uses, James thought. If he played his cards right, got the boy to trust him, then it opened up new doors and could lead them right to this Silva fellow’s doorstep – the man who had presumably plotted to assassinate the PM. They needed to find him. Q could take them there. James could promise him anything to guarantee his compliance – safety, protection, freedom.

It did not, however, mean those were promises he had to keep.

He was a Double-0 agent, for Christ’s sake, not social services. His job was not to help a lost, scared boy to safety. His job was to use any means possible to track down and apprehend the man responsible for the PM’s murder. Pragmatically speaking, Q was only a tool, something to be used and discarded afterwards.

But there was no need to keep him around after his uses had run out.  

He doubted MI6 would want to turn him loose when they were done. Maybe they’d eliminate him. But they could worry about that later. All James had to do at the moment was secure Q’s loyalty and service. It wouldn’t be too difficult. He was scared half out of his wits, terrified of his employer, and probably desperate for escape. James could use that fear to MI6’s advantage. He would offer Q what seemed like his way out.

He looked back at Q, who was huddled on the ground, watching him warily. He was frightened, of course – but more scared of whom? His employer, or James and Alec? James had to tread carefully, lest he scare the boy off. He would be of no use to them if he decided that staying with his employer was the better option. But James would not let that happen, of course.

“Q,” he said, and he knelt back down next to Q, “What’s your employer like? How does he treat you?”

Q flinched at the question. He looked down at his hands, fiddling uncomfortably with the sleeve of his cardigan.

“You said you’d answer my questions truthfully, didn’t you, Q? What sort of work do you do for him?”

Q still refused to answer.

“Am I correct in assuming you were coerced into giving him your services?”

“Yes.”

“And what kind of services would those be?”

“I…I just do as I’m told. I hack into whatever he asks me to. Banks, government archives, MI6…”

“Didn’t he teach you how to hack?” James asked, “So why doesn’t he do any of it himself?”

Q shrugged.

“He says he likes having me around because…because I’m clever, he said. He told me I was special. But if I cross him, he’ll change his mind. He will kill me without a second thought. That’s what he said to me.”

“What else does he use you for?”

“This and that,” Q mumbled, resuming his fiddling with his cardigan sleeve as if it was the most fascinating object in the world, “I speak to people for him. He sends me out to meet men he plans on using.”

“Was that what you were doing at the lounge? Waiting for someone?”

“Yes.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know. He…He doesn’t tell me much. I think it might have been a banker. I only knew what he looked like, and that I was supposed to lead him away to where…where he and his men were waiting. Maybe they were going to kill him. I don’t know. I…”

He trailed off guiltily, and James found himself wondering about this. So, Silva had sent Q out to lure someone off, possibly to their death. Why? Because he was young and pretty, and could easily seduce a man should his employer need him to? A strange, disturbing thought suddenly occurred to James. Perhaps it was blunt of him to ask, but nevertheless, he went ahead and did.

“Does your employer use you for sex, Q?”

Q’s eyes grew wide, and his gaze snapped upwards to meet James’ in a moment of horrified surprise. He flinched visibly, cheeks flushing in humiliation, and he pursed his lips tightly before looking away, resolutely refusing to answer – despite his fear, he had a mind of his own, it seemed.

But James knew what it meant. He could read the boy like an open book. The answer was an unspoken “yes.” Rather callously, James admitted to himself that were he in a similar position of power over the young hacker, he might do the same. He was, after all, very tempting. But this was good. It could work to James’ advantage. The more terrified Q was of his employer, the more likely he was to align with James.

“Are you frightened of him, Q?” he finally asked.

“Yes,” Q whispered, “Yes, I am.”

Now was the time for James to make his move.

“I can give you a way out. MI6 can relocate you somewhere safe and settle you down comfortably. If you can lead us to him, Q, then I promise to get you freedom. I will make sure you never have to work for him or even see him ever again. I can do that for you.”

“Would you really?” Q asked, eyes wide in disbelief. James saw a glimmer of hope in his wide, guileless gaze, and he felt a brief twinge of guilt jolting through his chest. He, of course, had no intention to personally guarantee anything for Q. That was up to MI6, not him. But Q didn’t have to know about that.

“I would.”

Surprisingly, Q’s face broke out into a smile, a startling and abrupt change from the fear-stricken expression that had been maintained since the moment they had met.

“Thank you, sir, thank you,” he spluttered, “Oh, God, thank you so much, thank you for being so kind to me, I…I’ll do anything you need me to, I swear I will, anything at all.”

Seeing how happy Q was at the prospect of freedom, thanks to this lie James had fed him, felt satisfying despite James’ conscience.

It meant Q was his now – and they were one step closer to finding Raoul Silva.

He looked back at Alec, who was watching him with a perplexed expression. No doubt he knew exactly what James was doing, but maybe he couldn’t figure out why. James held his hand out towards his partner.

“Your earpiece, 006.”

“What?”

“Your earpiece. I need it.”

Reluctantly, Alec removed his earpiece, steeping forward and depositing it in James’ outstretched palm. James then handed the device to Q, whose eyes lit up upon receiving the piece of technology. It was like watching a child get just what he wanted for Christmas. Technology, James assumed, was the only thing of purpose Q had in his life. It made him strangely sad to see Q take the device with such excitement, turning it in his hands with a rapt expression of fascination on his face.

“This is lovely,” Q murmured, handling the earpiece as if it was a newborn kitten, “So lovely…it’s a remarkable design, really. I always knew it was possible to make a communication device so small, but I’ve never seen one before. I almost didn’t notice it entirely when I was talking to…” He trailed off, glancing at Alec nervously.

“I’m glad you like it,” James told him evenly, “It’s yours now. I’ll need you to keep an eye on your employer for a bit – let me know what he’s doing, who he’s speaking to, and where he’s going. Report everything you can to me – as much information as you can gather for me.”

Q’s eyes grew wide and frantic.

“No,” he pleaded, “No, you can’t send me back to him, please, he’ll _know_. I’m dead if you send me back –”

“No, you’re not,” James insisted, “We’ll protect you. Once I’m satisfied with the information you’ve given me, you will lead me to him. You’ll tell me where he is. And then I’ll come and apprehend him.”

“And you…you’ll get me out?”

“Of course.”

“Do you promise?”

Q was looking at James with an indecipherable gaze. For a fleeting moment, James was almost certain that Q knew that he was manipulating him. But the look in Q’s eyes, behind those ridiculous spectacles, was not one of distrust. In fact, James wasn’t even sure what it was. What he was able to see, however, was a boy who had likely been fed countless empty promises before by a man who was even more manipulative than James was. He’d been lied to, mistreated, threatened, used – practically enslaved. In all honesty, he had nothing to lose, should he choose to help MI6.

James forced a comforting smile.

“Yes,” he told Q firmly, “Yes, I promise.”

If there was one thing years as a Double-0 agent had taught him, it was how to lie.

“I’m going to turn you loose, now, Q,” he said, “You will return to your employer as if nothing happened. If you are questioned by him, you will tell him that you were delayed because you were followed by MI6. He will know that we are after him anyway. You will also tell him that you managed to shake us off your trail, and that you left no way for MI6 to track you.”

“But…” Q gestured pathetically at his split lip and bruised face, products of the rather harsh beating that Alec had dealt him.

“You fell down some stairs when you were making your escape.”

James reached into his breast pocket and produced a handkerchief, reaching out to wipe the blood from Q’s face. The boy flinched away at contact, but surprised by the gentleness in James’ actions, hesitantly allowed him to continue with his ministrations.

“There, now,” he said, “Are you ready to go then, Q?”

Q nodded.

Slowly, Q got to his feet, and the boy wobbled unsteadily on his spindly legs as he stood. Alec was watching them, lips pursed, as James guided him towards the door.

“Are you all right?” he asked. 

“Yes," Q replied, "I’ve been through worse.”

James didn’t want to think about what that could possibly entail, lest his conscience stab him in the back again. Instead, he pulled the garage door wide open.

“Remember what I promised for you, Q.”

“I know.”

“Right, then. Off you go.”

Q gave James a final uncertain glance, and then he was gone, disappearing off into London’s winding alleys.

It was stagnant and silent for a few moments before Alec finally spoke.

“What were you thinking, Bond?”

James didn’t spare Alec another glance as he began to gather their things. “He’ll be useful,” he said, fishing his car keys out of his pocket, “We can use him to gather intel. It’ll be much more efficient this way. Trust me on this.”

“Of course I trust you,” Alec replied impatiently, “But can we trust him?”

“Look - he’s scared out of his mind. He wants to escape. He’ll do anything I ask him to, if he thinks it means I’m his way out.”

“But you can’t offer him anything at all without M’s approval first. You’re just playing him, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I am.”

Alec grimaced with distaste.

“That’s wrong, James,” he finally said after another uncomfortable silence. “You’re giving the poor kid false hope. That’s a bit too much, don’t you think?”

“I’m not the one that beat him half to death,” James countered with annoyance. He didn’t need Alec questioning his morals. He really wasn’t in the mood for that. They were agents of the SIS. There was no room for pity or sympathy or any sort of similar sentiment in their line of work. They did what was necessary, regardless of morals, and that was all.

“True,” Alec conceded, but James could tell that 006 still had his doubts. “I’m just saying that you never should have promised him anything.”

“Maybe you’re right, but we’ve got bigger things to worry about than Raoul Silva’s whore,” James snapped, and Alec looked surprised at sudden sharpness and crass edge in his tone, but James ignored it. Perhaps it was uncalled for, but no matter what Alec said, it was true that Q was nothing close to their primary concern at the moment – his employer was.

“Let’s get out of here,” James muttered, “M will be wanting a report. And there’s this, too.” He handed Alec the handkerchief he had used to wipe the blood from Q’s face with. “We’ll need to get his DNA analysed. Find out who this ‘Q’ really is. Could you get that down to the lab while I speak to M?”

“Sure thing. Let’s go, then.”

They closed up the garage and left quickly. It would only be a brief ride back to HQ, and James had to admit that he wasn’t looking forward to informing M that he had released Q back to his employer. Usually, she trusted his judgement – but it always took some convincing, and he’d have to suffer her lectures first, too.

Nevertheless, the thing dominating his thoughts was not the inevitable scolding he was soon to receive from M, but the utterly lost look in the frightened young hacker’s big, bespectacled eyes.


	5. The Findings

“So, you’re telling me that you let our hacker get away.”

James sat across from M as she stared sternly back at him, hands folded austerely on her desktop. James found his gaze drifting to the dour little bulldog sculpture, the union flag painted jauntily on its back. It stared blankly back at him, and he almost laughed at how silly this all was – really, it was as if he was a misbehaving schoolboy being scolded by the headmistress.

“I’m sorry, 007, is something funny?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I fail to see the humour in the situation,” M stated stiffly, regarding James with an icy stare, “I sent you off on a special assignment with very specific instructions. I was generous with you, 007, and you’ve thrown it back in my face. There’s plenty of people who think you should be dismissed, you know.”

“Why? Because I made a mistake?”

“Yes.”

“It was one mistake,” James replied evenly, “Although, it was technically Q-Branch's fault. But it won’t happen again. I’ll see to it myself.”

“There is no room for error in your line of work, 007,” M retorted, clearly unimpressed, “You should know that by now. An error can be fatal. And blaming Q-Branch certainly isn’t going to help.”

“So that’s it, then? You’re going to sack me?”

“No,” M said, “I’m not going to sack you. But I expect you to get me what I asked for. I won’t always have the patience for your recklessness. Now tell me what you know so far about the man who hacked us.”

“He’s not the person who planned the assassination,” James said, leaning back in his chair, “He works for the man who did. He goes by the name of ‘Q’ and I’m guessing he can’t be much older than twenty.”

M frowned.

“Q?” she asked, “What’s that supposed to mean? Quartermaster?”

“I don’t know,” James admitted, “It could mean anything. I’m not sure. It was a name given to him by someone else. He doesn’t even know what it means.”

“Did he tell you anything about his employer, then?”

“He doesn’t seem to know much. He only does as he’s told. I did get a name, though.”

“Well?”

“He says his employer’s name is Raoul Silva.”

As soon as the words had left his lips, M immediately seemed to stiffen in her chair at the very sound of the name. Her brow furrowed, and she stared at James in silence. The air was utterly still for a long, tense moment before she broke eye contact with him. Slowly, she got up from her seat, running a hand through her cropped hair as she turned away from James. He found himself wishing he could see her face, if only to know what was going on in her mind.

“Are you sure?” she finally asked, her back still to him, “Are you sure that’s what he said?”

“Positive, ma’am. 006 recorded our conversation, if you’d care to listen to it. Is there something wrong?”

M turned back to look at James again, features schooled into icy passivity. If there was one thing James admired about his boss, it was her complete mastery over her emotions. Outwardly, anyway – although, James could still tell “Raoul Silva” was a name that M was all too familiar with. However, it was pointless to ask her about it now. She was under no obligation to tell him anything, and he knew that she certainly would not. He’d find out on his own, eventually.

“If that’s all, 007, then you’re dismissed,” she told him simply, “I want you to continue monitoring our hacker and relaying everything he reports to me.”

“And afterwards? What do I do with him then?”

M gave him a frigidly patronising look.

“Kill him, of course. We can’t have anyone knowing that MI6 has been co-operating with someone involved in the assassination of the PM, can we? Especially if things go wrong. The last thing we want is a public inquiry. Since all of this was your genius plan, 007, I expect you’ll be handling this operation with the utmost care and secrecy, and you will clean up any mess that you leave. This does not extend beyond yourself, 006, Tanner, and myself. You’re not to speak to anyone else of it. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, ma’am,” James answered, flashing her a pleasant smile.

M did not smile back.

James knew what M thought without her having to spell it out plainly. She didn’t think that he knew what he was doing. She thought Q would double-cross them. But James liked to think that he had Q in the palm of his hand. Everything was perfectly under control.

He would prove M wrong.

 

* * *

 

Clearly, their conversation had put M on edge. Something he’d said had disturbed her – the name of Q’s employer, Raoul Silva. It was not James’ business to meddle in, of course, but nevertheless, he found himself becoming curious. Was he someone M knew? Someone from her past? Whoever he was, he was important enough to warrant M’s concern, and if that was the case, things could be very serious indeed.

Cajoling the quartermaster into doing a quick search into MI6’s archives proved fruitless. There was absolutely no record of anyone by the name of Raoul Silva in the system.

But James was a patient man. M couldn’t keep this a secret from him forever. She’d have to tell him eventually, seeing as this was the man that they were after for the assassination of the PM.

Who was he?

He had to be powerful, James assumed, to be able to pull something like the murder of the prime minister off. He’d probably hired a mercenary to do the deed itself, or maybe the mercenary had been an assassin forced into doing his dirty work, much like how Q had been coerced into doing hacking for him. What kind of person would have the skills and resources, and cold-blooded resolve to do all of this?

James had been considering all these questions alone in the canteen over a cup of lukewarm tea when Tanner had come bursting in, clutching a folder in his arms.

Poor Tanner, James thought. Ever since the PM had been assassinated, the workload of MI6’s Chief of Staff had increased exponentially. He imagined the man was at his wit’s end trying to keep everything organised and running smoothly through all of the chaos. Shortly before the fiasco, Tanner had been planning on taking a much-deserved golfing holiday. Of course, all those plans had been scrapped now. James imagined Tanner drowning in a deluge of paperwork, struggling furiously to keep up. It made an amusing image, honestly.

“There you are, 007,” Tanner said, “I’ve been looking all over for you.” He sounded like he was still trying to find his breath, and James didn’t blame him. Lately, it seemed as if M had him rushing all over the place 24/7. “006 and I have been analysing the DNA sample. We found a match.”

This immediately piqued James’ interest. His undivided attention was fixed on Tanner now.

“That was much faster than I expected.”

“We’ve got some really amazing new equipment in the lab. Saves us lots of time with forensics. Great for when things are quite urgent.”

“Tell me what you found.”

“There’s a lot. I have a meeting I need to be at in ten minutes. Walk with me – I’ll tell you everything on the way there.”

“Are you all right, Tanner?” James asked as he got up from his seat, following the man out of the canteen, “You look like you’ve not slept in days.”

“That wouldn’t be an exaggeration,” Tanner replied curtly.

“Bloody hell. I hope you get some time off after this is all over.”

“Well, we can all dare to dream, can’t we?” Tanner responded dryly, “Now, about your hacker – here you are. This is what I’ve managed to dig up on him.” He passed the folder over to James, who took it and flipped it open to view its contents. A photograph of a bespectacled child with dark, messy curls stared vacantly out at him – unmistakeably Q. Of course, it was a much, much younger Q, and James had to admit it was rather startling to see the person who had hacked MI6 as a child not even out of his primary school years.

“Geoffrey Boothroyd,” Tanner continued, and James was surprised at the brisk speed the Chief of Staff was maintaining as they walked on through the corridors, edging their way past other MI6 employees scrambling about, “One of those child prodigy types. Won a national contest at the age of seven writing computer code, competing against university students. It was in the papers. I vaguely remember reading about it a long time ago. Of course, the code he wrote was for some sort of computer game, but impressive nonetheless for someone at that age. Most seven-year-old kids spend their computer time playing games, not writing them. He won four more competitions of similar nature in the following two years.”

“What about a birth record?”

“Born in 1989, London. Father owned a small hardware shop, mother was a primary school teacher. Only child, no brothers or sisters. But this is where things start getting a bit strange.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well,” Tanner replied, “In 1998, Mr and Mrs Boothroyd were found dead in their flat. Both had been shot through the head. According to police reports, little Geoffrey was nowhere to be found. Disappeared without a trace. They never found out who killed his parents – they had no sufficient evidence, and the case went cold. It had to be closed. It wasn’t economically feasible to keep pursuing it. And they never found Geoffrey, either. Given up for dead, the report says.”

“Do you think the murderer was our hacker’s employer?” James asked.

“We can’t be sure, but it’s not illogical to conclude that’s the case,” Tanner replied, “It makes sense. Let’s assume he found out about this little child prodigy. He knew the boy could be useful, so he killed his parents and kidnapped him – and has been keeping him to this day.”

“Did 006 tell you the name of kid’s employer? What’d you find out about him?”

“Raoul Silva?”

“Yes.”

Tanner shook his head.

“Nothing turned up,” he said, “It might be an alias. I put the search through every database we have available. There was absolutely nothing.”

A sudden thought occurred to James.

“The boy confessed to me that his employer uses him for sex as well,” he said, “He must engage in regular intimate contact with Q – Geoffrey Boothroyd, that is – which gives us plenty of chances to obtain a DNA sample. Would analysing something like that be more likely to get us results?”

“Possibly. But I wouldn’t risk meeting with him again. M wants this done quickly, as I’m sure you know. And I think it’s safe to assume that this Raoul Silva isn’t a stupid man. He’ll catch on. If he kills the boy, then we’ve lost our only way to him.”

Tanner was right, he supposed. There was no point in risking Q’s life at this moment. Without him, they had no way of reaching Silva. And besides, James was almost positive that M knew exactly who this mysterious man was. She was just, for some reason or another, unwilling to say so. But what did she have to hide from them? What did she have to lose from telling them just exactly who Raoul Silva was?

“I’ve got to go now,” Tanner said, snapping James out of his thoughts, “The meeting’s right in here.” He gestured awkwardly at a door next to them. James hadn’t even noticed that they had stopped walking.

“Right,” James replied, “Thanks for the information.”

“If anything else comes up, I’ll let you know,” Tanner said, and then he disappeared behind the door, closing it behind him.

It was only when James was out the doors and on his way back to his flat after having acquired a fish supper at the local chip shop when something odd occurred to him.

What Tanner had discovered didn’t seem to fit quite right with what Q had told him. Something didn’t add up. Q had said that he didn’t know how old he was, that he couldn’t remember when he had started working for Silva, and that he had been doing so for as long as he knew. He hadn’t disappeared until he was nine years old – presumably, that was when he had been kidnapped by Silva. Nine was a young age, but not so young that one would be unable to remember a life before then, and Q was a very clever boy, it seemed. But he had claimed that he didn’t even know his own name. James was finding it increasingly difficult to believe that could be possible. Had Q been lying to him?

But James prided himself in being able to sniff out a lie after years of experience. If Q had been deceiving him, he would know immediately, wouldn’t he? There was, of course, the possibility that Q suffered from some form of amnesia – it wasn’t too unlikely. Maybe Silva had deliberately knocked on the head after kidnapping him. But the more James considered that option, the more unfeasible it seemed.

This was all much too confusing. How was he supposed to sort through the information they had on Q and Silva – or the lack thereof?

Upon returning to his flat, he hung up his jacket, seated himself on his couch, and turned on the telly. There was a football match on, but it failed to entirely capture his attention as he unwrapped his chips. The last thing on his mind at the moment was the match playing out on the screen in front of him, no matter how close the score currently was.

Rather, much to his annoyance, his thoughts remained centred primarily around Q.

Did that pretty face really have the capacity to deceive him so easily?

At the same time, he thought as he got up to pour himself a glass of scotch, it was also difficult to believe that the boy’s fear was entirely an act. He couldn’t bring himself to doubt that Q truly was scared of his employer, even if he had been telling lies.

James didn’t even realise he had fallen asleep until he heard static coming from his earpiece.

Years as an SIS operative had sharpened his senses such that the slightest disturbance was enough to wake him up. He jerked awake, finding that he’d dozed off on his couch. His earpiece had been left on the coffee table, and he grabbed it, quickly fitting it back into his ear to hear Q’s frantic voice coming through from the other end.

“Can you hear me? Are you there? Agent 007, please!”

“I’m here,” he said, “Are you all right?”

“Oh, God,” Q whimpered, voice a frightened, panicked whisper. It was hard to tell what he was saying because he seemed to be hyperventilating, “Oh, God, he knows, I’m sure of it, he knows –”

James’ entire body went tense as his words sunk in.

“Who knows? Your employer?”

“Yes!” Q replied, sobbing audibly, “Please, you have to come right now, he knows I spoke with MI6, I can sense it, he knows.... he’s going to kill me, oh, God, I’m sure he’s going to kill me. I’m begging you, Agent 007, please help me, I’m scared, please, for the love of God, please…”

James leapt off the couch and threw his jacket on. There was no time to ask for M’s approval for this. He doubted she was even awake. He had no choice but to go immediately. If he didn’t act quickly, then the only link they had to the man responsible for the PM’s murder would be gone, leaving them empty-handed. He couldn’t let that happen.

And, more than that, though he wouldn’t admit it to himself or anyone else, he couldn’t just leave Q there to die alone because of him. It felt wrong. The distress in the boy’s voice, the sheer desperation, the raw fear – it felt like a knife twisting in his gut.

“Hold on, Q,” he said, “I’m coming for you now. Can you give me your coordinates? I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“Do you promise?” Q asked in a quavering voice so thick with utter terror that James could practically feel it in the air around him.

“Yes,” James told him, “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, yes, I know, I am the most uncreative person on earth, recycling canonical quartermaster names...I dunno. I didn't think I could do Q any justice with a name fabricated by myself. Nothing I came up with sounded quite right. So "Geoffrey Boothroyd" it is, I suppose. Sorry about that. I know it bothers some people. 
> 
> There may also be issues with the timeline, as in Q's birth date, and so on. Assuming the year this takes place in is 2012 or 2013, I wanted to put Q's age in his early 20s. Anything younger than that felt strange. I know that the talented Mr Whishaw, who plays Q in Skyfall, is over 30, but looks very deceptively young. One of the the things I liked most about Skyfall was the tension between the new/young and the old, so I like to imagine Q being quite young indeed to really highlight that. But I am really sorry if that feels weird to any of you!


	6. The Lie

What happened next was all a blur – fragmented recollections of shattering glass and screeching tyres and searing pain, and then a terrifying blackness shrouding all of his senses.

 

James had no idea what had happened, really. One minute, he’d been driving as fast as he could down the motorway after having located Q’s coordinates, and the next, he had opened his eyes and found himself lying face-down on the ground in an empty, dimly lit room.

 

Somewhere in between, he vaguely recalled a violent collision, and the sickening feeling of his world being turned upside-down, quite literally, as his car was thrown off the side of the road and sent tumbling down the side of a hill. But how he’d gotten from his car, to this empty room with cold concrete floors and walls, was still a total mystery.

 

The agent took a moment to acquaint himself with his surroundings. The walls were unadorned, the room was unfurnished, and a heavy, windowless door, seemingly locked electronically, sealed him off from whatever was outside. The only light came from a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, feebly radiating a weak yellowish glow. There was absolutely no furnishing, and the air was ominously still and stagnant.

 

Groaning, he sat up. He coughed, and the sound echoed eerily, reverberating throughout the room and bouncing off the grim concrete walls. He gingerly pressed a finger to his forehead, wincing as he found what was likely to be a sizeable bruise. His knuckles were caked with dried blood, and his elbows stung terribly. Further investigation revealed that the skin there had been viciously chafed. His chest ached, too, but the sensation was dull enough such that he had no reason to fear that any ribs might be broken. His head, however, was still spinning, and bright dots still swam in his vision. He blinked furiously to expel them.

 

Where the hell was he? What had happened?

 

He felt for his earpiece, and discovered that it was gone. He swore under his breath - now there was no way of contacting MI6. Nobody even knew he was here.

 

James’ senses kicked into overdrive at the sound of someone outside the door – the soft, steely click of metal against metal. Then, the door opened a crack, light from outside flooding inwards, before a figure slipped inside.

 

It was Q.

 

The boy quickly closed the door behind him, and hesitated as he looked at James, staying close to the door, back and fingers pressed against its surface as if he was ready to flee the room at any moment. He certainly looked nervous, and the oversized black cardigan that seemed to swallow his willowy frame whole did little to hide the fact.

 

“Oh, good,” Q said, voice strangely calm despite his evident fear. This was more like the Q that Alec had met in the lounge. “You’re not too badly hurt. I was afraid they would have overdone it.”

 

James took one look at the boy, with his slight build and unruly curls and bespectacled eyes, and instantly felt rage exploding through every vein in his body when he realised what was going on –

 

Someone had known James was coming. Q had told them. And they had been waiting, ready to ambush him.

 

He felt overwhelmingly glad that whoever had thrown him in this god-awful room had not bothered to restrain him as he lunged at Q with the ferocity of a tiger, seizing the boy by the throat. The momentum caused the back of the boy’s head to slam against the wall, and he let out a choked cry as James wrenched him forward, lifting him clean off the ground with his hands encircled in a crushing grip around his neck.

 

“You duplicitous, lying, two-faced little snake,” James snarled, fingers pressing viciously into Q’s windpipe, “You set me up.”

 

Q’s only response was a wheezing gasp. James watched with sick satisfaction as the boy struggled uselessly in his grasp, eyes darting frantically back and forth as he fought for air. His movements were not too different from a moth that had its wings pinned, trying to get free. His struggles only encouraged James to squeeze harder, and Q clawed wildly at James’ hands with the raw desperation of a rabbit in the jaws of a fox.

 

James contemplated how easily he could kill Q at that moment. He could stay just as he was and let Q suffocate – slowly, agonisingly. Or, he could just snap his neck right then and there with a single quick, efficient movement. But that wouldn’t do. James didn’t want to kill him. That would be far too easy. He wanted to break every bone in his skinny little body, shatter him into pieces, smash his pretty bespectacled little face, tear him apart, rip out his innards and feed his remains to the vultures.

 

Killing Q or inflicting some sort of permanently crippling harm upon him would be immensely satisfying, but not exactly wise in this moment. He could still be useful. So grudgingly, James released him, letting him fall onto the concrete floor in an unceremonious heap.

 

He watched coldly as Q gasped for air, struggling to catch his breath as he was curled defencelessly on the ground. His entire body was wracked with spasms as he coughed, clutching at his own throat as if he was drowning.

 

It was pathetic, really.

 

“You bitch,” James spat out, “I should fucking kill you.”

 

“Then why don’t you, Agent 007?” Q asked, glaring at James through his spectacles as he slowly collected himself, forcing himself to sit back up as he rubbed his bruised throat, “Go on. Kill me. I’d thank you for it.”

 

“You’re not even worth the bloody effort,” James retorted angrily, standing over Q, “You had a lot of nerve, pretending to be a poor, helpless, innocent little boy. You make me sick.”

 

“If you’re trying to intimidate me, Agent 007, you should re-evaluate your strategies,” Q replied frostily, “You don’t scare me as much as you think you do.”

 

“All those things you told me in that garage - you lied to me.”

 

“Not everything was a lie.”

 

“Spare me the bullshit,” James snapped, reaching down to grab Q by the collar. The hacker made no move to resist. “You know who you are. And I know who you are, too, _Geoffrey Boothroyd_.” He spat out Q’s real name as if it were poison, and Q flinched at the very sound of it.

 

“There is no Geoffrey Boothroyd,” he responded coldly, “Not any longer. So don’t you dare call me that ever again. That part of me has been gone for quite some time. It died along with my parents, naturally.”

 

“And I suppose their murder was no accident,” James snarled, letting go of Q’s collar and shoving him back onto the ground, “You knew it was going to happen.”

 

“Mum and Dad treated me like…like a circus freak,” Q ground out, gaze snapping upwards to boldly meet James’ as he sat back up with a strange calmness, “They paraded me around in the papers like some sort of zoo attraction. I never wanted any of it, none of the attention, none of the press, none of the bloody contests. I just wanted to be a normal nine-year-old boy. They wouldn’t let me. They made a show of me. Turned me into a sideshow attraction. ‘Boy genius,’ they called me. ‘Child prodigy.’ They were always boasting about me as if my accomplishments were their own. ‘Be grateful for everything we’ve done for you,’ they said, ‘You’d be nothing without us.’ Geoffrey Boothroyd, the child prodigy, the genius, the _freak_. That was who I was until they died. Did I resent my parents? God knows I did. But did I love them as well? Yes. I did. I loved Mum and Dad dearly. I never asked for anyone to kill them. Don’t even try to accuse me of planning the murder of my own mother and father.”  

 

James laughed.

 

“I see what happened now. You hated the life your parents built for you, and you thought that Raoul Silva was your escape, didn’t you? How old were you when you met him?”

 

Q’s eyes narrowed behind his spectacles.

 

“It’s no concern of yours.”

 

“You were only a boy when it happened, of course,” James continued smugly, truly relishing the mortified look on Q’s face, “A stupid, naiive little boy. But winning all those contests, being labelled a prodigy, all of it – it made you arrogant enough to think you knew everything about the world. But you knew nothing about human nature, did you? He lured you to him with false promises of that normal life you’d always wanted. You fell so easily for his lies. You trusted him, and you were stupid enough to reveal too much to him. Then he killed your parents and took you for his own, making you his amusement, his pet, his little toy.”

 

Q’s eyes flashed angrily.

 

“Don’t you dare act like you know anything about it,” the boy retorted indignantly, “I’m special to him.”

 

“Don’t make me laugh. Perhaps you do some hacking for him every now and then, but Silva doesn’t really need you, does he? You’re nothing but a pretty face to him, a silly little puppet. Admit it. You’re only special enough to be his _whore_.”

 

With an enraged shout, Q threw himself at James, but he presented James no threat. He knocked Q back onto the ground with a vicious blow. It was almost laughable how effortlessly he could hurt the boy.

 

“Does he tell you how special you are when he fucks you?” James asked mockingly, kneeling down next to Q and gripping his chin tightly, forcibly turning his head so he was made to look him in the eyes. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to humiliate the boy, to degrade him, to make him feel worthless. “You’re afraid of him, no matter how much you try to convince yourself that he cares for you. I know fear. I’ve seen it in thousands of people before, and I can see it in you now. You may not be scared of me, but the very thought of him fills every fibre of your scrawny little body with sheer terror, doesn’t it? He would kill you without a second thought if you crossed him. How very _special_ you must be.”

 

Q was glaring back at James, valiantly keeping eye contact, but there were tears rapidly welling up in his eyes, though he was trying so hard to fight them back. Triumphantly, James revelled in the fact that he’d just hit a sore spot. Q could pretend for as long as he wanted to be brave, but that wouldn’t hide or change the truth – in the end, he was just a frightened boy. With a scoff, he let go of Q’s face, and the hacker promptly sat up and turned away, wiping his eyes fiercely with the sleeve of his cardigan, nearly knocking off his own glasses in his haste.

 

“Why did you come here?” James demanded as Q remained still, “To mock me? To show me what a clever boy you were for tricking me?”

 

“You misjudge me,” Q muttered, “I came here because I wanted to help you.”

 

“Don’t fucking lie. I’ve had enough of it.”

 

“I am not lying.”

 

“Why should I believe you?”

 

“Because I promised you!” Q shouted, and James had to admit that he was caught off guard by the young hacker’s outburst, “I promised I’d help you if you helped me. That was our deal, wasn’t it? You’re right. I’m afraid of him. I baited you here because he ordered me to and I didn’t want him to punish me. But I’m going to help you escape this place now.”

 

“Why? He’ll kill you once he finds out, won’t he?”

 

“But he wouldn’t get the chance,” Q insisted, “Because you would take me with you.”

 

James hesitated. Q was looking back at him with wide, desperate eyes. He shifted uncomfortably, clearly worried by James’ silence.

 

“You would…wouldn’t you?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. His gaze was pleading and pitiful – it was almost enough to make James feel sorry for him. Almost.

 

“Maybe,” James finally managed to say in a rather non-committal fashion, having nothing better to tell the boy, and Q looked crestfallen.

 

“Please,” the young hacker tried again, and he was practically begging, “Please, you have to take me with you. I don’t want to be trapped here with him for another day. I’ve tried running away before, but he’s always found me, always punished me, but…but this time, it could be different. I’d have you, and MI6, to protect me. You said you’d get me out, you…you promised me. You did. We could…We could leave right now, if we hurried, and…and…” He trailed off helplessly, and James could tell that he was struggling yet again to fight back tears as it dawned upon him that James had never intended to keep his side of the bargain.

 

Q was by far one of the strangest people James had ever met. One moment he was all bravado, bitterness, and calculated calmness, and the next, a hopeless, teary-eyed mess. Surely, one of those personas had to be an act, although it was nearly impossible to determine which was the real Q. Was his helpless side merely an attempt to garner James’ sympathy, or was he really that much of an anomaly?

 

Either way, the boy had been harbouring an agenda of his own. He’d acted subservient to Silva’s commands, following his orders and bringing James to this place. But he hadn’t done it purely out of obedience, even if he was afraid of his employer. It had been his plan all along to have James be forced to help him escape. Q might not have had the means to stand up to Silva, but James was beginning to realise that the boy was still quite strong in will.

 

It was quite fascinating, actually, despite the circumstances.

 

But much to the Double-0 agent’s disgust, he could feel something inside him softening at the sense of utter hopelessness that had seemed to wilt Q on the spot. In that moment, he looked like a doll that had been discarded and tossed aside, and James fought to suppress the pity that was rapidly swelling within his chest.

 

It was such a pathetic sentiment, and it made James sick to his stomach. The boy had lied to him, tricked him one time too many, and lured him here. He could still be manipulating him at this very moment. Why should he feel sorry for him? Why should he feel obliged to do anything for him, regardless of what empty promises he might have made?

 

James he was realising, more and more, that despite his contempt and wariness, that he did feel sorry for Q. It wasn’t his fault, really. If James was in a similar situation, he, too, would have done anything if it meant a chance to escape. It would be wrong to have the skinny little hacker show him the way out and then leave him there to suffer the consequences – which could possibly involve him being killed. He was also been perfectly aware how wrong it had been to promise Q anything that he never intended to fulfil in the first place. He hadn’t needed Alec to tell him that.

 

But no matter how much James tried to ignore his conscience, he could not, for some reason completely unknown to himself, say no to that helpless face another time.

 

However, that was the moment he remembered what M had said to him when he had asked what was to be done with Q afterwards.

 

_Kill him, of course. We can’t have anyone knowing that MI6 has been co-operating with someone involved in the assassination of the PM, can we? Especially if things go wrong. The last thing we want is a public inquiry._

 

Now James was a man conflicted. Was he to help this boy that he actually felt he owed nothing to, or was he to do just as Q had – follow orders? Should he take Q with him as they made their escape, and kill him once they were a safe distance away?

 

Yes, James thought, that was the right solution. He’d do it quickly, quietly, and painlessly. He supposed that was the least he could do for Q. Q had lied to him, so he should have every right to deceive him in return.

 

But James had been the one who had lied in the first place back in that garage.

 

There were too many lies that had been told to keep track of. It was making James feel rather sick. But he could not afford to let his moral confusion affect him now. He had to get out of here, and Q was the only way. If he had to tell him just one more lie to both secure his escape and follow the orders M had given him, then so be it.

 

“How about this, Q,” he finally said, “I’ll make you a new deal. If you tell me what I want to know about Silva – no lies – and show me how to get out of here, then I’ll take you with me.”

 

“Do you mean it?” Q asked.

 

“Yes,” James replied. Technically, it was the truth. He did intend to take Q with him. But he just chose not to mention what he planned to do once they’d gotten away. “Now, I think you know a lot more than you were letting on. Tell me what Silva planned to achieve by killing the PM. Who’s next? What else has he got in store for Westminster?”

 

Q contemplated James’ words.

 

“This has nothing to do with Westminster,” he said quietly, and James had to sit back down on the floor next to him so he ould hear him properly, “The assassination…it was only an opening act.”

 

“An opening act for what?”

 

“For what he’s going to do to MI6.”

 

James stiffened.

 

MI6? How on earth did this relate to MI6? And why was MI6 Silva’s target?

 

“Go on,” James said, “Tell me more.” When Q hesitated fearfully, James reached out to place a hand firmly on his shoulder. “It’s all right. You can tell me. I won’t let him hurt you for it. He won’t be putting another finger on you.”

 

“He…He planned the assassination as something like…baiting a hook,” Q leaned in closer, voice now a frantic whisper, his eyes darting back and forth as he restlessly tugged at his cardigan sleeves. It was as if he feared someone was watching, listening to them. “He wanted a way to catch your attention. What better than to have the PM killed? Mr Silva was…leaving a trail for MI6 to follow, knowing there would be a price on his head. He had me do research. You were M’s new favourite, it seemed, from what I’d found after hacking the databases. Capturing you, maybe killing you, would send her a message, teach her a lesson. He purposely had me make sure that I could be tracked, that you could find me. I was to bait you here. But this isn’t about us, this…this is about her. M.”

 

James recalled the look on M’s face when he had mentioned Silva’s name. It had been a look of recognition. Whatever she’d been hiding from him was a secret dangerous enough to warrant an attack on MI6 and a personal threat. M was a cold woman, no doubt about it, but James cared for her. She was like a mother to him, despite all the shit she had put him through in his years working as one of her operatives. The thought that someone was targeting her made him inexplicably furious.

“Why?” James demanded, “Why M?”

 

Q shook his head.

 

“I…I don’t really know,” he admitted, “All I know is that he was once one of her operatives. Perhaps a Double-0 agent, just like you. Something happened, something that he doesn’t speak about, at least not with any specifics. All he’s ever told me was that she betrayed him. But I swear to you that I don’t know much else, or what exactly he plans to do next. He doesn’t tell me everything. It’s like you said. I’m…I’m not much to him. He wouldn’t tell me, and I wouldn’t dare to ask.”

 

James decided that Q was not lying to him. He no longer had a reason to, after all.

 

Q was quickly running out of uses to him, James thought. There was no need to linger here for any longer than necessary. The faster he got back into contact with HQ, the faster he could deliver the new information so the proper security measures could be taken. Not only that, but he would find out just exactly where he was. Then they could call in operatives to smoke out and destroy Silva.  
  


“That’s good enough,” James muttered, “Let’s get out of here.”


	7. The Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've not updated in so long! So very sorry, things have been just frightfully busy for me, and unfortunately, will continue to be for quite some time, so I actually don't know when I'll be able to post the next update! I'm not even sure if anyone is currently reading or following this fic, but since I had time today I thought I may as well post a new chapter in case there's anyone!

James offered a hand to Q, intending to help the poor thing to his feet. The hacker stared blankly at his outstretched hand as if he was unsure what to do with it. James cocked an eyebrow in exasperation, and gingerly, Q reached out to take his hand. James closed his fingers around Q’s in a firm, secure grip, pulling him up easily. Q seemed quite startled by the action. Bewildered, the hacker quickly snatched his hand away as soon as he was standing. He glanced at James before quickly looking back away, cheeks flushed pink.

It would have been strangely endearing were it not for the sad truth that Q likely had no idea what to do with the hand offered to him because he had spent over ten years being pushed down with no one to help him back up.

Ignoring the knot twisting tightly in his chest, James gestured to the door, indicating for the hacker to lead the way out. Q approached the keypad on the door, deft fingers dancing across the keys as he typed in the code before James could even blink. A light above the keypad blinked green, and a soft click echoed throughout the room as the lock gave way. Q struggled for a moment with the heavy door, and James hurried to his side to help him.

“We need to be very, very quiet,” Q whispered, “He has men stationed all around. But I looped the security camera feed, so no-one will see us that way. With any luck, nobody will have noticed that I’ve tampered with the cameras.” He peered cautiously about, before quietly making his way out of the room. He gestured for James to follow, and the agent closed the door behind them with the utmost care to ensure that they made no unnecessary sounds that would draw attention.

“We won’t be able to get out through any of the doors. Someone is always guarding them. We’ll have to climb out through a window.”

Nodding to show he understood, James followed Q down the dimly lit corridor that was just as grim as the room they’d just exited.

Q looked on edge as they made their way forwards. Every time they rounded a corner, his entire body would tense, and he would wring his hands in distress. The slightest noise would cause him to jolt in alarm, and he was blinking so rapidly that James feared his eyeballs might fall out. Every inch of his body radiated a raw, nervous fear, and James knew why – this was his one last chance to escape Silva. If they were caught, he was as good as dead.

Suddenly, Q came to an abrupt halt as they neared another corner. He grabbed James by the sleeve, pulling frantically at it as he darted back behind the wall. James quickly followed suit, falling silent. Next to him, Q was pressed against the wall, a hand clapped over his own mouth to muffle the sound of his quick, scared breathing. The sound of heavy footsteps was coming from somewhere around the corner, echoing eerily about the corridor. When James glanced back at Q, he was startled to see how violently he was trembling.

Wordlessly, he reached out to grasp Q’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture. Q squeezed his eyes shut, seeming to melt at James’ touch. Whatever James had done was working – the boy’s body relaxed slightly, though his fear was still nearly tangible.

They stayed completely still like that for what seemed like hours, until finally, the footsteps began to fade. Within a few more moments, they had disappeared entirely.

Swallowing hard, Q slowly peeled himself away from the wall and cautiously made his way around the corner. James hurried after him as the hacker broke out into a sprint. Q was very light on his feet – his footsteps hardly made any noise at all – but it made sense, considering how slight his frame was. James was certain he couldn’t weigh more than a feather. He could probably knock the whisp of a boy over by simply exhaling.

James saw why Q was running – they were close to the destination he had in mind. After turning around a final corner, they had reached a window large enough such that both of them could fit through.

“I’ll go first,” James said, “And then I’ll pull you up.”

Q nodded, and after receiving his affirmation, there was no more time to waste. James jumped up and latched onto the sill with his hands. With a grunt, he hoisted himself up, swinging his foot forward to kick the glass.

Below, Q winced at the sound of the glass shattering. James’ brow furrowed. That had been much louder than anticipated. He gave the windowpane another kick, and the remaining glass cracked loudly before giving way.

Q was fidgeting, rocking nervously back and forth on his heels as James swung his legs out the other side. The agent peered down over the other side – the ground seemed to be a distance away such that it was safe to jump. Turning himself over again, he held his hand out towards Q.

“Take my hand,” he said, and this time, Q didn’t hesitate. He reached out to grasp James’ hand tightly, and James readied himself to pull the boy up.

That was when the gunshot rang out.

A loud _bang_ tore through the silence, and Q let go of James’ hand with a cry. James watched in horror as the boy crumpled to the ground, blood seeping through his trousers – he’d been shot in the leg.

Q tried desperately to sit up, whimpering as he clutched at his injured leg. His features contorted with agony as he attempted to get back to his feet, but found that he could not. Dismayed, he collapsed back onto the ground, panting, feebly trying to stop the bleeding with the sleeve of his cardigan.

Rapidly approaching footsteps and shouts could now be heard, and Q’s eyes grew wide as he turned to see a group of men coming down the corridor towards them.

“Go,” he hissed at James through gritted teeth, “I can’t…My leg…You’re already halfway through the window, just go.”

James didn’t know why, but he hesitated. He could not, for some utterly unfathomable reason, bring himself to abandon Q.

The men were upon Q in an instant. Leading the group of four was a broad-faced man dressed impeccably in a crisp white suit, platinum blond hair a nauseating companion to his sallow skin. Q tried in vain to crawl away, but the white-suited man stopped him, reaching down to grasp a fistful of the boy’s dark, unruly curls. Q let out a pathetic wail as the man twisted the locks, jerking his head back.

James stiffened, every pore of his body suddenly aflame with some potent, inexplicable fury.

He should have left Q there and escaped on his own, but instead, like the asinine man he was, he leaped back inside. It was as if some other entity other than his own better judgement was spurring him forward as he lunged at the man with no clear goal in mind other than to force him to get his hands off of Q.

As expected, his efforts were in complete vain.

He was seized by two of the other men, and he twisted about, lashing out at them, but unarmed and outnumbered, he was no match for them. He managed to deal one of the men a blow to the face strong enough to shatter bone before his arms were wrested behind him. The man he had managed to land a hit on stumbled back, howling and clutching his face. But restrained by multiple men now, no amount of struggle could free James.

Q was looking at James with wide, horrified eyes. He looked utterly crushed – James knew that the boy blamed no-one but himself for the predicament they had now both found themselves in.

“How amusing,” the white-suited man remarked, and when he looked at James in the eye, it felt like he could see right inside of him. It was extremely disconcerting, to say the least, and it did not take James long to conclude that this was Raoul Silva.

Silva seemed to detect James’ moment of realisation, and he gave James a wide, wolfish smile before returning his attention to Q.

“You poor thing,” he murmured with sickeningly artificial tenderness, reaching downwards to let his fingers brush across Q’s injured leg, “My poor, pretty little quartermaster.”

Quartermaster?

So that was what “Q” stood for after all.

This, along with what Q had told him, served as confirmation to James’ suspicion that Silva had some sort of connection to MI6 – perhaps a history with the organisation, something involving M. Something serious had happened between them. Now he was more sure of it than ever.

“You look confused, Mr Bond,” Silva smiled, straightening. One of his hands absently stroked Q’s hair as if he was a house pet, and Q visibly trembled at his touch. “First of all, allow me to properly welcome you here, to my own little ‘MI6,’ if you will. You’re a smart man, aren’t you? I think you already know what’s going on. And I’m willing to bet that dear Q has told you more than he should have. Maybe you know too much. Perhaps it would be more practical just to kill you now. Would you say that’s the case, darling?” Silva looked back down at the young hacker.

Q was silent, eyes downcast. James could see that he was completely gripped by terror now, whole body shaking. He was making no attempt to conceal it – probably because he simply could not in this situation. An amused smile crawled across Silva’s lips as he watched Q quake with fear.

“I asked you a question, Q.”

“I-I didn’t tell him anything, he doesn’t know anything –”

“For such a clever boy, you’ve never been a good liar,” Silva observed nonchalantly as if he was making a comment on the weather. Then, without warning, he brought his foot down upon Q’s injured leg, pressing directly down on the wound hard with the heel of his spotless leather shoe.

Q screamed, the sound turning shrill as Silva deliberately increased the pressure, twisting his heel cruelly. The boy writhed on the ground, letting out another stuttering cry as Silva lifted his foot, only to bring it slamming back down onto his leg.

In all honesty, it was heartbreaking to see Q treated with such sadistic cruelty. James was stunned. Despite his own fear and the certainty of punishment, Q had tried to protect him. There was a chance that Silva would have been more lax with his punishment if Q had answered his question truthfully, but Q had not taken that chance. He had chosen to suffer for James’ sake instead.

Why? Why on earth would he do that for him?

James had no idea what the answer was, but he tried to start forward, his instincts telling him to jump to Q’s aid, though it was useless as he was jerked back by the men restraining him. He wriggled ferociously, but his struggles still proved fruitless.

“Why are you defending him, darling?” Silva asked, voice nauseatingly saccharine, “Do you like Mr Bond? Of course you do. He’s a handsome man. Naturally, you’d throw yourself at him like the little slut you are.”

Q whimpered as he weakly shook his head, tears streaming freely down his cheeks. There was no bravado now, no calculation, no cold demeanour. James did not even want to begin imagining what utter agony he must have been in.

“What about you, Mr Bond?” Silva asked cheerfully, looking back up at James, “Do you like my Q? There’s no shame in admitting it. Getting you here was easy enough, of course. I know what the Double-0s are like. One look at a pretty face, and they think they can play the knight in shining armour. You thought you’d rescue poor, defenceless Q, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t that,” James ground out – there was some truth to it, after all.

“Oh?” Silva raised an eyebrow, “Perhaps you are more like me, then, Mr Bond, with much more selfish motives.” He smiled, his eyes moving back to Q’s prone form with a gaze that held some sick parody of fondness, “Maybe your motives were more...carnal.”

The man knelt back down next to Q, whose breath was coming out in shuddering gasps as he tried valiantly to deal with what must have been immense pain in his injured leg. He began to stroke Q’s hair again with a lazy, vacant smile.

“Shh,” he murmured, “I know, darling. I know it hurts. Shall I make it all go away? A little morphine and some bandages, and you’d be good as new, hm? Would you like that, Q? I’ll have your poor leg fixed up in no time, and we can carry on like none of this ever happened. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? But you’ll have to tell me what Mr Bond knows first. You shan’t be in any sort of trouble, so don’t worry your pretty little self.”

Q stood his ground.

“He doesn’t know anything,” the boy insisted, though his voice was frightened and faint.

“I don’t like being lied to, Q. You should know that quite well. Shall I pluck out your little fingernails?” Silva chuckled as if he’d just told a joke. “Imagine that. How old-fashioned of me that would be.”

“He doesn’t know anything,” Q repeated, a little more firmly this time, “I didn’t say a word to him, he -”

“Stop lying to me!” Silva roared as he grasped Q by the hair and jerked him sharply upwards. James had to admit he was startled by the sudden outburst and change in mood. Silva’s face had twisted grotesquely in a horrific mask of rage, clearly displeased at Q’s disobedience. He knew that Q was lying, and Q was perfectly aware of that, yet still refused to tell the truth. James imagined how infuriating it could be for a man as mercurial in mood as Silva to have his pet defy him.

Vaguely, James thought back the interrogation with Alec, and the way Q had so pitifully tried to shield himself from 006’s blows. Now, the boy wasn’t even attempting to defend himself. Perhaps he knew that would only make it worse for him.

Q’s determined silence in response to his demand only seemed to incense Silva further. Without warning, he struck Q across the face with a sudden, violent movement, and the sound of the impact echoed sharply through the corridor. James winced as Q fell limply back onto the ground and stayed there, entire body completely still as if he had surrendered himself into becoming Silva’s personal punching bag.

“Very well, then,” Silva remarked as he rose to his feet, smiling pleasantly. Strangely enough, his rage had seemed to disappear as quickly and as suddenly as it had come. “If you don’t want to talk to me, Q, then that’s fine. Let’s put you to better use.”

He gestured at the men restraining James, who released him and instead walked towards where Q was sprawled. James briefly considered grabbing Q and making a run for it, but he didn’t have time to move so much as an inch before he felt the barrel of a gun pressing into his back.

“I know you have places to go and things to do, Mr Bond,” came Silva’s voice as he placed a hand on James’ shoulder, “But it’d be such a pity if you missed this. You are, after all, our guest of honour, aren’t you?” Silva was so close to him that James could feel his breath by his ear and feel the warmth of his body. An involuntary shudder made its way down his spine, and Silva’s lips curled upwards in a self-satisfied grin.

James watched as one of the men grabbed Q by the arms and manoeuvred him like a puppet such that he was on his hands and knees. Q whimpered, his injured leg unable to support him in such a position, and he nearly toppled over before he was roughly pulled back up. James wondered with dread what they were going to do to the boy, and it was only when the other of Silva’s henchmen jerked Q’s trousers down that he realised with horror exactly what was about to happen.

“Pretty, isn’t he?” Silva mused, his grip on James’ shoulder tightening, “Such a lovely boy, don’t you agree?” He prodded James’ back with the gun, demanding an answer.

“Yes,” James managed to say through gritted teeth, “Very lovely.”

He utterly hated the flicker of white-hot desire that flared through his body at the sight of Q’s bare backside with its supple, youthful flesh presented to him in such a manner - though it did not escape attention that the flesh was also mottled by old bruises which had barely healed over. It made him sick to his stomach, and angrily, he fought back the feeling of want, disgusted with himself. Silva must have been perfectly aware of his struggle, because he chuckled darkly, his grin widening.

This was Silva’s goal, of course - to humiliate and debase Q in front of James as a method of punishing him for his disobedience, and for that darker part within James to enjoy it.

James was snapped back to his senses when Silva sharply jabbed at his back again with the barrel of the gun. Horrified, he watched as one of Silva’s men gripped Q’s thighs and forced his legs apart, the other of the two holding the boy in place. Q was trembling visibly, cheeks streaked with tears, but he made no attempt to struggle. Blood was streaming down his injured leg, the crimson colour contrasting in a nauseating way with the pale skin, but neither of the men paid it any mind. James knew why. As far as those men were concerned, Q’s body was a reward from Silva for their service.

Such wanton objectification of a defenceless boy filled every pore of James’ body with rage.

He didn’t know why he felt so strongly about this, why seeing Q treated like this made him so angry. He was no saint himself, he’d fucked plenty of people in his life before with no intention other than to gain personal pleasure. But Q, for some reason completely unknown to him, was different. Maybe it was because the young hacker had tried to protect him despite knowing he would suffer from it. Or maybe, strangely enough, it was because Q had blurred the lines between truth and deceit around the two of them so effortlessly, and despite how much he might resent Q for doing that, it still made him the most intriguing and most alluring creature James had ever encountered in his entire life. It was not easy to fool James Bond, but Q had been clever enough to succeed - and yet, he still possessed some sort of strange, internal innocence that James could not define.

Whatever it was, it had now awoken every instinct in his body to protect the boy and to spare him from any further harm. He thought he would go mad if he had to watch anyone lay another finger on Q. And thus, before he knew it, all reason, logic, and better judgement had evaporated instantly into thin air.


	8. The Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I want you to watch, Q. I want you to see your knight in shining armour die. You will watch my men kill him and send him back to MI6 in a body bag. I want you to remember that you will never, ever leave this place, not even when age has withered you to nothingness."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I did say I was very busy and wouldn't be able to update for a while, didn't I? Well, here we are at last, another chapter. Although I apologise for the general messiness of it all! And there's probably about fifty million plot holes and gaps in logic in there as well. I feel like perhaps this one moves a little too fast. I went through the chapter a million times, trying to fix it up a bit, but it seems I wasn't terribly successful. I tried, I guess?

As one of Silva’s men positioned himself behind Q, the other gripping a fistful of the boy’s unruly curls to dash any hopes of escape, James could no longer watch in silence. 

“Don’t!” he found himself shouting, “Don’t touch him. I’ll tell you what I know.” 

Silva raised a hand, and his men stopped. Irritated, they stepped back, and Q collapsed back onto the ground with a soft whimper. He looked up at James with wide eyes, shaking his head desperately. 

_Don’t_ , he mouthed at him, _He will kill you._

Honestly, James had no idea what he was doing. So what if he let Silva’s thugs fuck Q? Why should it be any concern of his? He suspected that it was probably a regular occurrence anyway. But some part of him knew how it would ruin Q to be humiliated like this in front of the man who he thought was to be his saviour, especially when he had been so close to freedom. It would surely break him - and he was already much too close to the precipice, holding onto the slightest of threads. One more push would send him toppling off the edge. 

Was James planning on salvaging that shred of innocence - that glimmer of hope - that Q still had inside him? Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t. He had no idea. All he knew was that he did not want to see Silva or his men touch the boy ever again. 

“Well, Mr Bond?” Silva said, giving James an artificially friendly smile, “Share with us.” 

James hesitated. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that one of Silva’s thugs was still holding Q by the wrist in a vice-like grip. 

“Really, Mr Bond, we’ll all die of old age if you stall any longer.” 

“Give me your word that your hacker won’t be harmed,” James said firmly, making eye contact with Silva, “I forced information out of him. He didn’t tell me out of his own will.” 

Silva chuckled. 

“So noble of you, Mr Bond. It’s very admirable. Very well, then. If that’s what you want. I won’t punish my little quartermaster for tonight’s incident.” Much to James’ relief, the men stepped away from Q. Hastily, the boy pulled his trousers back on, face flushed. But Silva was still watching James expectantly. “Now then, Mr Bond, what has he told you?” 

“You’re after M,” James stated, and Silva’s smile dropped instantly at the sound of her name. It made James oddly pleased with himself. “I don’t know what sort of business you have with her, but it’s all rather childish, isn’t it? Holding on to the past like that, making your own version of MI6. You think you are above us, above the law, above everything - but that’s not true, is it?” 

“What could you mean by that, Mr Bond?” 

Truthfully, James was bluffing, stalling for time that he wasn’t even sure what he’d do with yet. But he gave Silva another self-assured smile and kept talking as if he knew exactly what the other man was thinking. But really, it wasn’t hard to hit a sore spot at all when it came to a prideful man like Silva. 

“The sad truth is that you still need her. You need MI6 to make you feel like you’re still worth a shit. This isn’t revenge, or anything like that at all - you’re not doing this because you despise her. You’re doing this because you’re just like a child, desperate for his mother’s attention, desperate for her to realise how wrong she was to-” 

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. The wind was knocked clear out of him by a solid, violent punch to the gut. Pain exploded through his abdomen as he stumbled back, and he found himself being grabbed from both sides by Silva’s men, who had left Q discarded on the ground - he wouldn’t be running away anyway, not with his leg injured like that. Another hefty blow followed shortly after, leaving him wheezing for breath. Then came the sensation of knuckles making colliding with his face, with enough force to make white dots burst in his vision. 

Then Silva deliberately brought his knee sharply up into his groin. James shouted in pain, doubling over. Blood was streaming from his nose and his head was pounding, all other senses numbed with raw, red-hot agony. Breathing was becoming difficult - it was as if his body was collapsing in on itself. 

“Stop it!” Q cried, and through hazy vision, James could see that the boy had crawled towards them and was clinging pathetically to the hem of Silva’s trousers in a frantic attempt to stop him. “Don’t, please don’t hurt him, please,” he begged, clutching desperately at Silva, and seeing Q like this made James feel like someone had just punched him in the stomach again. 

Silva smiled down at Q, stepping back and away from James to kneel down next to his hacker. 

“You poor thing,” he sneered, and he grasped Q’s chin tightly, roughly turning his head to force him to look at James. “I want you to watch, Q. I want you to see your knight in shining armour die. You will watch my men kill him and send him back to MI6 in a body bag. I want you to remember that you will never, ever leave this place, not even when age has withered you to nothingness - your youth and beauty will have abandoned you, and no-one will want to so much as look at you ever again, let alone save you. You are nothing.” 

James felt a gun pressing into his temple, and he tried to jerk away with gritted teeth. He could feel the frustration mounting as he realised he was not getting away this time. He had no weapon, no way to escape, no hope of outmatching two of Silva’s thugs, who were clearly well-trained anot not just run-of-the-mill cannon fodder henchmen. His mind had gone into overdrive, frantically trying to figure out how the hell he was going to get himself out of this, but he could not arrive at any solutions. 

It couldn’t end like this. Not when M was in danger, not when MI6 was compromised, not when he had promised to get Q out of this place. 

Then the sound of a gunshot exploded in his ears. 

He stumbled back, ears ringing, as he was abruptly released by the men restraining him. He fell onto the ground, and was shocked to find that not only was he alive and well, but uninjured as well. Another gunshot rang out, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of Silva’s men pitching forward, dropping the gun that he had been about to shoot him through the skull with. Blood streamed from a hole in the man’s head, and it took James a moment to realise he was dead. 

He looked up and was surprised to see none other than Alec Trevelyan, Agent 006, barreling down the corridor, gun in hand. 

Lips curled back to bare his teeth, Silva had begun to back away, an expression of fury written into his features. He had clearly not been expecting help to arrive. Truth be told, James hadn’t been expecting it, either. 

James quickly came back to his senses and sprang into action. He grabbed the gun that Silva’s dead henchman had dropped before throwing himself over Q, shielding the boy from any stray bullets or shrapnel that might come their way. The other of Silva's men started towards them, but James fired, hitting him three times in the chest.

As the man's body hit the ground, he looked around wildly for Silva, but the man had vanished.

"Where'd Silva go?"

"The blond one?" Alec asked as he reached them, "No idea. He was just here a moment ago..."

A bullet struck the ground inches from where James was crouched. Looking up, he could see another group of men, all armed, coming down the corridor towards them. There was no time to worry about where Silva had gone now. 

“Get the kid out of here!” Alec shouted, gesturing wildly at James as the men opened fire, “There’s a car in the back.” He threw a set of keys to James, who caught them and pocketed them immediately. “Hurry up, I’ll be right behind you.” 

James wasted no time. He grabbed Q and hoisted him up into his arms. He wasn’t going to squander precious seconds asking Q if he could walk by himself, because he knew that the poor boy could barely even stand without having to experience intense pain. Fortunately, the scrawny little hacker didn’t weigh much at all. Startled, Q instinctively clung to the front of James’ shirt and held on for dear life as the agent broke off into a run, with Alec shouting which way to go. 

“How the hell did you know I was here?” James asked as they ran. Alec fired into the group, taking out two men with a few well-aimed shots. A bullet whizzed by James’ ear and another clipped his arm, but he paid them no mind. 

“Distress signal,” Alec shouted back over the sound of gunshots. 

“I didn’t send one.” 

“Well, somebody did.” 

It took James a moment to realise that it had been Q. 

“Does M know you’re here?” 

“No. But I reckon she doesn’t know you’re here, either.” 

Suddenly, Alec grunted in pain as a bullet struck him in the shoulder. He faltered for a moment, but pressed on so they would not lose speed. 

“Are you all right?” James asked in alarm, looking back at his fellow Double-0 agent. The wound was already beginning to bleed profusely. 

“Been through worse,” Alec muttered through gritted teeth. “Look, we’ve got to split up. You take the kid first and get out of here with the car. Just keep going down this corridor and turn right at the end. I left the door wedged open when I came in. I’ll lead Silva’s men off and that should give you plenty of time.” 

“Don’t be daft. You can’t expect to get out on your own with a gunshot wound and no escape vehicle.” 

“None of us are getting out if we stay in a group. We’re too easy of a target like this. But if we split up, we’ll split up Silva’s men, too. I know what I’m doing. We’re Double-0 agents. We do this all the time.” 

There was no time to argue with Alec. James didn’t want to leave his comrade here to fend for himself, especially when he was wounded. But he was right, as much as James hated to admit it. The odds were much better if they split up. 

“Get in contact as soon as you’re out, will you, 006?” 

“Naturally.”

As soon as they reached the end of the corridor, Alec darted to the left, and James turned sharply to the right. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him towards the door, which Alec had been smart enough to leave partially open to provide for a faster escape. He kicked the door, letting it swing wide enough such that he could run through the doorway with Q in tow. 

Bullets peppered the door as James kicked it back shut. The car Alec had come in was parked nearby, and James threw the door open. Quickly, he eased Q into the backseat so he could lie comfortably with his wounded leg before dashing around to the driver’s seat. Undoubtedly, CCTV cameras or something of the sort should have detected Alec’s arrival in the car immediately, but Silva had been so preoccupied with James and Q that it must not have caught his attention. James was grateful for that much, at least. 

He jerked the car door shut as he fastened his safety belt, reaching into his pocket for the keys and jamming them into the ignition before slamming his foot downwards on the acceleration pedal. The tyres squealed as he sped off, the sound of bullets ricocheting off the sides of the car echoing all around them. 

“Keep your head down!” he shouted at Q. As usual, he was eternally grateful that MI6 equipped its agents with bulletproof vehicles, but the cars still had their weak spots, and he could not afford for an accident to happen.

At least they were being followed by less men, now, since half of the group had split off to follow Alec. That made escape much more likely. They continued firing at the car, but it appeared that there was no time for them to follow in vehicles of their own. 

Triumphantly, James could feel a familiar sense of relief washing over him - the feeling that he had gotten himself out of yet another seemingly inescapable mess. He didn’t allow himself to relax fully, though, until he had reached the motorway and was sure that they were not being pursued. He couldn’t help but grin. They’d managed to get away. The infamous James Bond was victorious once again. 

This time, however, he had some precious cargo in tow. The young hacker was huddled in the backseat, hands pressed to his wound - it wasn’t bleeding as heavily as it had been a few minutes before, but he’d already lost a lot of blood, and his face looked as pale as a sheet. He had a dazed look on his face, as if he could not quite believe that they had managed an escape - after over a decade of torment, there was finally a real hope of freedom. 

James thought briefly of Alec, but he knew the man well and was confident that he could find his own way of escaping. For now, he had to take care of Q. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get the boy to a hospital. That would attract far too much attention, especially given the nature of the hacker’s injury. MI6 would be on their backs immediately, and the last thing he wanted at the moment was for M to find out that he’d gone behind enemy lines without permission. And he certainly didn't want her knowing that he was toting a criminal hacker with him.

"Are you all right?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at Q.

Q was silent for a moment, before he finally nodded.

"I think so. It's just my leg."

"We'll have it taken care of," James assured him, "Just keep some pressure on the wound. We don't want you bleeding out."

James wasn’t entirely sure where they were, but it certainly seemed that they were quite far from London. There wasn’t time to get back to his flat. He couldn’t risk Q’s injured leg worsening - it had to be attended to immediately. The best thing to do, he supposed, would be to check into a hotel, where he could tend to Q’s leg himself. Hopefully, he could get the boy past hotel staff without them noticing his injuries. 

He was quick to find a hotel - it certainly wasn’t as upscale as he would normally like, but now was not the time to be worried about that. He parked the car and examined his reflection quickly in the rear-view mirror. James wiped the dried blood from his face, but there was nothing he had to conceal the dark, ugly bruise on his cheek. He supposed he’d just have to let it be and hope that the hotel staff would pay it no mind. He stepped out of the car, walking around to open the back door. 

“Q, I’m sorry, but I’m going to need you to walk for a just a while,” he said, “Can you try it for me?” 

He helped Q out of the car, and hesitantly, the boy stood with James supporting him. Cautiously, he shifted his weight to his injured leg, and immediately let out a yelp of pain. 

“I-I can’t,” he managed to say, “I’m sorry, Agent 007, I...” 

“It’s all right,” James told him, “Here - lean on me.” 

Q clung to his arm as if it was a life buoy, limping painfully along as James moved forward. The boy was biting down hard on his lip, determined not to make any noise or show any other sign of discomfort. James had to admit it was very admirable. The kid had more fortitude in him than James would have thought. There were lots of things about Q that surprised him, it seemed. 

They made their way together into the hotel lobby, where they were greeted at the front desk by a sweet looking young woman. James eased himself in front of Q such that the hacker’s wounded leg was hidden from view, and he gave the woman behind the desk a friendly smile. 

“One room,” he told her as he fished out his credit card. “Two nights. Might make that more later on. The best you have available, please.” 

She gave Q a questioning look, and James shrugged. 

“He’s had a bit too much to drink, but it’s nothing a good night’s sleep can’t fix.” 

“Will you two be sharing a bed, or...?” 

James’ mind went blank for a moment. Share a bed? With Q? Vaguely, he wondered if she thought Q was a prostitute, or some hapless uni student that he’d picked up. 

“No,” he replied hastily, “We won’t be. A room with two separate beds would be lovely.” 

If the desk attendant thought James was behaving strangely she said nothing of it, and instead passed him a set of keys. 

“Come on, you,” James said, putting on a cheerful voice as he lifted Q up into his arms, turning away from the desk attendant. It was evident that making Q walk any further would not be a good idea. “Off to bed. You really ought to have more self-control at the pub.”

Q shot James a sour look, but kept silent as the agent carried him to the lifts.

As the stepped through the automatic doors, he could feel Q relax in his arms. He figured the boy must be exhausted - he was, too. But he knew they couldn't relax quite yet. Their battle was still far from over. 


	9. The Conundrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my. Finally, an update - after god knows how long. Not even sure if anyone's still reading this one! I'm not too sure when the next update will be, either. Hopefully soon, as I'll have a little time next week. I apologise for not having posted any new chapters in such a long time, but life happened. Again, this work has not been beta'd, so all mistakes and poor usage of the English language are my own. (I also changed the fic's summary a wee bit in a probably ill-fated attempt to make my story seem slightly more interesting.)
> 
> Anyway, this chapter contains some dodgy DIY medical procedures. Don't try this at home, kids.

As soon as they located their room, James deposited Q onto one of the beds. The hacker fell back onto the sheets with a soft groan of relief. His eyes were flickering back and forth, weakly taking in their surroundings.

“First time in a place like this?” James asked as he took off his jacket, tossing it onto his own bed. He supposed he was satisfied with their accommodations. The room was fairly large, with a clean bathroom, a telly mounted on the wall, a sofa, a mini-bar, and a large window with a view of the city outside.

Q shook his head.

“They’d take me to hotels, sometimes,” he mumbled, “Those men Mr Silva would have me speak with.”

Instantly, James regretted asking such a question. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why those men took Q to hotels and what they did with him there, given what he now knew about the sorts of "jobs" Silva had Q doing for him aside from the hacking. Fortunately for him, Q looked too exhausted to take offence at the question. Either way, though, he’d have to see to Q’s leg immediately. The injury wasn’t fatal, but if left alone, it could become much worse. James had suffered similar gunshot wounds before and had been forced to treat them himself. He knew he’d have to remove the bullet and any shrapnel. It would be extremely painful, of course, but it was necessary.

He went to the bathroom, locating the extra towels and bringing them back along with a first-aid kit and a bottle of alcohol from the mini-bar. He sat down on the bed next to Q, easing the folded towels under his leg. Ideally, he would have liked to do this in the bathroom where the inevitable mess would be easier to clean up, but he didn’t want to move Q any more than was necessary. Reaching back into his pocket, he fished out Alec’s car keys - if he remembered correctly, there had been a small pocketknife attached. It wasn’t ideal, of course, but it would have to do. He'd managed with less before. 

“What are you doing?” Q asked in alarm, eyeing the pocketknife warily.

“I’m going to have to remove the bullet,” James stated, “We can’t leave it in there, can we? Now, trousers off.”

Q hesitated, looking at James uncertainly.

“Trust me, Q.”

Biting his lip, Q slowly eased his trousers off. James tried not to think too much as the fabric slipped off his legs. The boy’s face was flushed bright red, but James was determined to be professional about this. It wouldn't exactly help to point out that there was no need for him to embarrassed, given that James had already seen much more than his bare legs. But this was different, he supposed. James was an outsider, not a part of that horrific world Silva had built around his young hacker, where he might be forcibly exposed. The rules were not the same out here. This was meant to be a safe zone, but James did not blame Q for worrying that perhaps he had not left the horrors of his life working for Silva after all. 

He took Q's trousers and folded them neatly, setting them aside. Blood had run down all of Q’s leg, now mostly dried and caked. James uncorked the bottle of alcohol and poured it directly onto the wound to ward off infection, then onto the blade of the pocketknife as a crude means of sterilisation.

Q hissed in pain, his fingers curling tightly into the sheets around him. He was trying so hard not to make any noise, lest they attract the attention of the concerned hotel staff. Unfortunately for him, James thought, the pain would only get worse.

“This is going to hurt, Q,” James told him, “But I want you to know that I’m doing this because it’s what’s best for you, and because I want to help you. Do you understand?”

Q nodded, his face pale.

Without another word, James slowly inserted the blade of the pocketknife into the wound.

Q cried out, and instantly bit down hard on the sleeve of his cardigan to stifle the sound. Hoping to comfort him in an attempt to make the ordeal a little more bearable, James reached out with his free hand to hold Q’s. Q gripped his hand so tightly that his knuckles immediately turned a ghostly shade of white. Honestly, James didn’t blame him.

He found the bullet quickly and began to move the blade back and forth, painstakingly working the object to the surface. He was trying to be as gentle as possible, but he knew no matter what he did, without anaesthetics, it would still hurt terribly. Q was whimpering, letting out a muffled sob every now and then, and James pretended not to see the tears that were streaming afresh down his cheeks.

“It’s all right,” James reassured him as the hacker clung desperately to his hand, “We’re almost done. You’re doing wonderfully.”

Finally, James had managed to remove the bullet. He went back to remove the shrapnel, finding and extracting five small but sharp pieces. The wound had begun to bleed profusely again, and as soon as James had removed everything he could find, he cleaned what blood he could away with a damp towel before binding everything up tightly with a roll of gauze bandages from the first-aid kit.

It was a crude job, but it was all he could do at the moment. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, gathering up the blood-stained towels.

“I just want to sleep,” Q replied unhappily, his face buried in the pillow.

“I’ll talk to you in the morning, then,” James said, and then he pulled the blanket over the boy and tucked him snugly in.

He retreated into the bathroom, intending to let the hacker sleep. He’d dispose of the bloody towels later. All he wanted at the moment was some rest, too. It'd been a lengthy ordeal for both of them. 

As he washed Q’s blood off of his hands, he realised that he had no idea what to do next. He’d run off, away from MI6, with a criminal hacker in tow. What on earth was he even thinking? And then he remembered what his original plan had been.

He was supposed to kill the boy.

Those were his orders, weren’t they? He was not to let the boy live. And now, having told him everything he had known about Silva, he had run out of uses. If anything, he was a burden now, something MI6 would have to take care of and clean up after. Unwillingly or not, Q had been, and technically still was, an associate of a wanted criminal.

Slowly, he exited the bathroom, walking quietly towards where Q lay. The boy was already fast asleep, curled under the blankets. James listened to the soft sound of his breathing and watched the gentle rise and fall of his body. How long had it been since he was able to sleep peacefully like this?

It wouldn’t be wrong to kill him like this, James thought. He would die content, at least, and somewhere safe and comfortable. It would be most merciful way. Preferably, James would have liked to do the deed quickly and cleanly as he slept - one bullet to the head. He wouldn’t even feel it. But he had no gun with him. All he had was Alec’s pocketknife.

He hadn’t killed anyone in such an old-fashioned way in a while. He wondered how efficiently he could slit Q’s throat, and whether or not he would be able to use just the right amount of speed and pressure to make sure it was quick and relatively painless. If done clumsily, the boy would die suffering, choking on his own blood.

James picked the pocketknife up from where he’d left it on the bedside table. He moved noiselessly to back Q’s side and reached forward to press the blade against the boy’s throat, which was still bruised from recent events. He was so deeply asleep that he didn't even register James' presence. He had no idea death was so near.

All it would take was one swift movement, and the job would be done. It would be so easy, so fast, so simple, and it would save MI6 the burden of having to deal with him.

Suddenly, Q stirred, and James froze. The boy’s dark fringe of lashes fluttered briefly as he let out a soft sigh of content in his sleep, shifting himself a little further under the blankets. How innocent he looked - so blissfully unaware that James was standing over him and could, if he so desired, end his life in the blink of an eye.

Maybe it was that innocence that made James withdraw the blade and throw it back onto the table.

The agent stepped away from the sleeping hacker, disgusted with himself. He had not known himself to be able to display such weakness and cowardice before. This was far from the first time he had been ordered to kill someone else, but never before had he been asked to do so to someone so defenceless. Perhaps James was more old-fashioned than he had even thought. Q might have been involved in Silva’s plot, and he could understand perfectly why M did not want to be liable for him - there were too many ramifications, too many protocols violated, too many people who would not approve - but despite everything, he could not find the means within himself to murder a boy whose only crime had been to try his best to survive. It was the most basic of human instincts. Silva would have killed him, or done something even worse, if he had refused to do as told. But who was to say the same could not be said for the countless anonymous henchmen James had killed throughout the years? For all he knew, many of them could have been forced into service, too. Was it really fair to draw the line here?

James Bond was not a man who was known to show sympathy or kindness, but this was different. Q was not like anyone else he had ever encountered before in his career as an SIS operative. This was unfamiliar territory. He had no idea what to do next.

Chest clenching tightly, he sat down on his own bed.

He really didn’t know what he was trying to achieve here.

So, he was going to spare Q, then. But what could he do next? It wasn’t as if he could stay here forever, hiding from M. He’d have to report back soon. And what was he to tell her? That he’d gone after Silva by himself without permission, had gotten 006 involved, and was now unable to follow her instructions that explicitly stated he was not to let Silva’s hacker live? M was used to him disobeying orders, of course, but something told him that in regards to Silva, she would have no tolerance for any sort of insubordination. Silva and his operations, James could tell, was something that M wanted eradicated completely for reasons of her own.

These were the questions that he found himself drowning in as he let his exhausted mind and body slip into an uneasy sleep. 

When James opened his eyes, sunlight was already streaming through the window.

He sat up, stretching his tired muscles as he got out of bed. He crossed the room towards the window, careful to make as little noise as he could. A look outside revealed that life went on as usual around them - the motorway was already packed with cars, and the pavements below were already crowded with people.

He was about to draw the curtains shut so the morning light would not disturb Q, allowing him to sleep peacefully for a while longer, but the boy had begun to stir.

Groggily, Q rubbed his eyes before putting his spectacles back on. He looked blearily towards James with his large, owlish eyes, looking rather disoriented with his dark curls hopelessly dishevelled and sticking out every which way. Completely oblivious to the fact that he had been inches away from death as he had slept.

“How’s your leg feeling?” James asked.

“It still hurts, but it’s fine, I think,” Q replied, gingerly touching the bandages wrapped around the wound. James was pleased to see that the wound had not re-opened during the night, and that the bandages were not overly saturated with blood.

“You must be famished,” James said, “We should be able to call for something to be sent up. What do you want to eat?” He quickly located the room service menu, which contained a decently sized selection of breakfast, lunch, and dinner items, as well as service for afternoon tea.

Q shrugged vaguely.

“What do you like?” James tried again. 

"I don’t know.”

“What did Silva feed you?”

At the sound of Silva’s name, Q’s entire body went tense.

“Whatever was the most inexpensive to provide that could still keep me alive,” he finally mumbled.

In James’ opinion, whatever Silva had fed the boy, it couldn’t have been large in quantity - he was so thin, it looked like he could be tipped over with the slightest prod.

He tried a different approach.

“If you could eat anything in the world - anything at all - what would you have?”

Q pondered the question for a moment. Bashfully, he peered up at James through his spectacles, fiddling with the sleeve of his cardigan.

“Actually, I remember a cake,” he ventured, “A birthday cake. Mum and Dad didn’t usually do that sort of thing, but when I turned nine...a few months before they died...Dad brought home a cake for me. It was chocolate. It’s silly, I know, but I was...I was very happy, I think.”

“Then we’ll get you a slice of chocolate cake,” James said, giving Q a brief smile, “Would you like that?”

“Yes,” Q answered shyly, “Yes, I think I would.”

James called for room service to bring up a slice of cake for Q and a bottle of scotch for himself. The staff’s response was surprisingly prompt, and as they waited, James was able to help Q change his bandages. Within ten minutes, the skinny little hacker had a plate of cake in his hands, though he politely declined when James offered to pour him a glass of the scotch as well.

Q poked at the cake hesitantly with a fork, as if he was unsure whether or not it was actually real. After a period of deliberation, he finally took a cautious bite, and as soon as he tasted it, his whole face seemed to light up. James watched in amusement as the boy began to scarf down the cake with uncharacteristic voraciousness. It felt good, James thought, to see someone who had been denied such simple pleasures for so long to finally be able to enjoy a small luxury, and he was happy to have provided it.

There was no need for James to be kind to him, no obligation of any sort. He was an MI6 agent with a license to kill, after all. He admitted to himself that paradoxically, his kindness was actually out of selfishness. Perhaps he was trying to assuage his own guilt about having nearly murdered the poor boy in his sleep the previous night. 

But the more James looked at Q, the more fascinated he became. Q wasn’t strikingly pretty, but rather, had a much subtler, quiet beauty - the sort of face with a rare, innate sweetness that one would be happy to bring home to their parents.

It really was a shame, James thought, that he had spent so much of his life as Silva’s captive. There really was something about him, something oddly magnetic, that woke every instinct to protect. If he had been given a chance at a normal life, then there would be no shortage of people who would be drawn to him, willing to care for him and to do anything for him.

Would James do anything for him at this point?

He wasn’t sure.

He tried not to think about it as he drained his second glass of scotch, watching Q finish his cake. Not a single crumb remained on his now spotless plate.

“Thank you, Agent 007,” Q said as he placed the empty plate on the bedside table, setting the fork down on top of it, and the gratefulness in his voice was truly quite genuine.

“It’s nothing,” James replied, “If you want more, I could order another slice.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Q replied, and he folded his hands neatly in his lap. “But really, Agent 007, I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I know that we perhaps...had some misunderstandings along the way. But I really am grateful. You’ve been very kind to me, and I’m sorry that...that I’ve dragged you into my mess. You don’t deserve it.”

James shrugged.

“It’s my job,” he said simply, ignoring the nagging guilt that pulled at his chest, “Besides, you saved my life, you know, by sending an SOS signal to 006. And you protected me when Silva wanted to know how much I knew. You didn’t have to. Why did you do it?”

“Because I think you’re a good man,” Q replied, and James was surprised at how instantaneous his response was. There was no dancing around the issue - Q knew what he was doing and why. He wasn’t like James, whose mind was completely muddled and whose morals had become murky. For Q, it was simple.

But he was so wrong, James thought, and it hurt more than he dared admit to think that Q had helped a man who had intended to kill him, believing him to be something that he was not.

“There are no good men in the SIS,” he found himself saying as he looked away from the hacker.

“You’re wrong,” Q insisted, “I’ve been surrounded by bad men for almost my entire life. I’m not saying you’re perfect, 007, but I know what a bad man is, and you are not one of them.”

James considered Q’s words and wondered if there was any validity to his statement.

“You have an awful lot of faith in me, considering the fact that you barely even know me.”

Q laughed, and it was the first time James had ever heard him do so. His entire face had seemed to take on a fresh new glow as he smiled, soft and and comforting - beautiful, even. It was amazing, really, to see such radiance in such a simple, subtle expression of the face. How long had it been since Q had last been able to laugh like that?

“You should smile more,” James remarked, “You’re very pretty like that.”

Q’s face flushed at the comment, the smile vanishing from his face almost immediately. He gave James a look of abject horror, and James quickly realised why - _pretty_ was not a word that rang positively in Q’s mind. _Pretty_ was something Silva would say to him, sickly sweet and cruel, full of poison, a word that was meant not to flatter the boy or to make him feel loved, but to mark him as a possession.

“I hope you know I intended that as a compliment,” James said carefully, “Because you are pretty. Very pretty. It’s a good thing. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Of course,” Q mumbled, eyes downcast in embarrassment, “Of course you didn’t. You’re...You’re not _him_.” He cautiously looked back up at James, and James was troubled by the fact that he could not read the hacker’s gaze. “I won’t be sent away, will I? He’ll find me. I know he will. Please, I don’t...I don’t want to be relocated, I don’t want MI6 to place me anywhere else. He knows too much about MI6, I’ve been made to access everything, every archive, every system - anything MI6 does, he’ll know. I don’t want to go back to him. Please.”

James wasn’t sure what to say. MI6 didn’t even have an official plan on what was to be done with Silva’s young hacker. Besides himself, M, Tanner, and 006, nobody even knew they’d interacted. He surely couldn’t tell Q the plan had been to kill him.

“Then what do you want, Q?”

Q stared back at James resolutely.

“I want to stay with you, 007. You’re not working under any MI6 record or supervision right now, are you? I don’t suppose your boss even knows you’re with me. I could be safe with you.”

James raised an eyebrow, surprised at Q’s forwardness and perceptiveness.

Q seemed to take this as a bad sign.

“Please. I won’t be much trouble to you. I’m good at making myself invisible. I don’t have anyone else I can go to, no friends or family, otherwise I would have been happy to leave and spare you the burden.”

“You know,” James commented, “We’re not so different. You don’t have a family. I don’t have one, either. My parents died when I was about the same age as you when you lost yours. I know what it’s like to be alone, Q. Nobody should have to endure it for much longer than you have.”

Q looked stunned at James’ revelation. He opened his mouth as if to offer some words of condolence, but nothing came out. He sat there awkwardly, fiddling with his cardigan sleeve, trying to think of something appropriate to say. It was actually quite comical to James, but he decided to spare Q the embarrassment and swiftly changed topics.

“Is there anything else you’d like?”

Q paused.

“You wouldn’t...happen to have a cigarette, would you?”

Nodding, James went to where he’d left his jacket and produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from one of its pockets. He kept them on his person, usually to initiate conversation with a mark by offering them one, but he had never been in the habit of smoking himself. Some of the agents did as a way to diffuse stress, but he knew M disapproved of it - it was bad for the health, and thus had no place in the life of a field operative who needed to be in top shape. He handed the cigarette and lighter to Q, who took them gratefully.

“Do it out on the balcony. We wouldn’t want you setting off any smoke alarms.”

James watched as Q climbed out of the bed and began to limp towards the balcony. James started forward to help him, but Q shook his head stubbornly, insistent on doing it himself.

When Q had made it outside and had closed the sliding door behind him, James watched the boy lean against the balcony and enjoy his cigarette while surveying the view of the city and landscape below. Now, more than ever, did Q feel like a mystery. He might have been under Silva's control for years, but he was still strong in his own way and knew what he wanted. As the hackers' face became shrouded by a cloud of cigarette smoke, James allowed himself to accept the fact that he would probably never solve that mystery in its entirety. 

Oddly enough, he felt fine about that. 


	10. The Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading and reviewing! I was afraid that nobody would want to read anymore, since I hadn't updated in such a long time an didn't know if I should continue!
> 
> Warning for a potentially troubling scene ahead re: consent. More on that in the end notes. As usual, this work is unbeta'd and all mistakes are mine.

James let Q smoke alone and went to take a shower. He’d been too exhausted and too caught up in removing the bullet from Q’s leg the previous night that he hadn’t had time to do so yet. The feeling of hot water washing over his body had never been such a welcome sensation. He liked his showers nearly scalding - it made him feel cleaner, more alive. Almost like it was possible to wash the blood off his hands. 

(Literally, it was simple enough, but figuratively, it never seemed to work.) 

As he stood under the hot spray, steam rapidly filling the room with a thin veil of mist, he wondered why he had somehow, despite his better judgement, decided to spare Silva’s hacker. Personally, he never felt comfortable killing children, but that couldn’t be the reason. Although relatively young and appearing to have an odd, boyish innocence, Q was no child - he was old enough and clever enough to be a threat. 

“Guilt” or “conscience” alone was too simple. James knew that neither of those could be the only reasons because they had never stopped him before. He might have been a professional, but he wasn’t a cold man. Killing another person was never satisfying or devoid of any emotional weight. A part of him would always think that it was, regardless of the situation, not his place to take the life of another. Of course, that part was always ruled over by his pragmatic nature. He killed out of necessity and obedience, loyalty, patriotism - all for queen and country - but why did none of that matter when it came to Q? 

Perhaps, James thought rather darkly, it was because he desired the boy. 

There was no denying it. James was typically quite honest with himself when it came to these matters. Maybe his motivation for deciding to let Q live despite M’s instructions was much more selfish. Maybe he merely wanted Q for himself. The boy was certainly tempting. But surely, that couldn’t be all there was to it. Wanting someone, no matter how badly, had never impeded him in his work before. Or maybe it really was that simple? 

Yes, James thought. That must be it. It _had_ to be. He had never been a man to deny the fact that he had many vices, prone to lustful thoughts and inclinations. It was the only logical explanation as to why he’d spared Q. Nothing else seemed to make sense. This sounded much more like the man he knew himself to be - a man aware of his own carnal desires who wouldn’t hesitate to act upon them. 

Contemplating this and finding himself rather amused despite everything, James turned off the spray and dried himself off quickly, wrapping the towel securely around his waist. There was still a slight tingle to his skin from the heat of the water, and he allowed himself to enjoy the pleasant lingering feeling as he walked out of the bathroom. 

Q had finished his smoke and was sitting on the bed, watching the telly with limited interest. At the sound of the bathroom door opening, his eyes automatically moved towards the source of the sound, and he looked up to see James standing there. 

Upon becoming aware of the Double-0 agent’s state of (mostly) undress, Q’s eyes widened in embarrassment and his entire face flushed crimson as he quickly looked away, diverting his gaze to his own hands, which were clenched tightly together in his lap. 

James observed Q’s reaction with amusement, and almost laughed. It was endearing, really, especially considering the fact that James was quite certain at this point that surely, Q had seen plenty of partially naked - and entirely naked - men in his life due to the additional “services” Silva required of him. So, endearing in a peculiar and admittedly sick sort of way, perhaps. 

Slowly, like a tiger circling its prey, James crossed the room towards Q’s bed, where the hacker was huddled. Q’s body became tense as James approached, and when he sat down on the bed next to the boy, he took note of how Q’s fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 

What sort of reaction was this? Was he frightened? Self-conscious? Or merely caught off guard and embarrassed? 

Regardless of what sort of signals Q was sending out, James could not help but think back to his own contemplations in the shower - he had willingly admitted that he did desire Q, and had come to the conclusion that it was why he had chosen not to kill him - probably. After all, who wouldn’t want a pretty face like that? He’d done his moral duty in sparing Q’s life when he could have killed him easily. Now it was time to reap his rewards. 

What James Bond wanted, James Bond always took. And now, more than ever, was he determined to claim his prize, if only to tell himself that the hold the boy had over him was merely a carnal matter and nothing else. 

He reached out to grasp a fistful of Q’s hair, marvelling at the loveliness of the dark locks as a powerful desire flared up violently within him, seeping into every pore of his body. The boy flinched, but did not pull away or protest. Taking this as his cue, James leaned forward and kissed Q hard on the lips. He responded instantly, kissing him back - hesitantly at first, and then hurriedly trying to match James’ momentum as the agent deepened the kiss, easily coaxing his way past Q’s lips with his tongue. 

The taste was ashen and James reminded himself to never again kiss someone who’d just been smoking, but the sensation was incredible and compensated entirely for that. Q’s tongue was unsurprisingly deft - though if James was unaware of how the boy was made to grant sexual favours for Silva and his men, based on his appearance alone, he would never be able to guess that someone with such an air of innocence would be so good at pleasing another man in such a sensual way. The paradox was intriguing and ridiculously erotic, and it was enough to send that pulsating, red-hot wave of desire straight into his abdomen. 

Not sparing another moment, James pulled Q into his lap, fingers on the waistband of the hacker’s trousers. He was kissing Q with such force that he was sure he would leave bruises on the boy’s lips, but he didn’t care. He wanted Q more than anything else at that moment, and he was determined to have him. 

He ran his hands down Q’s thighs, nearly forgetting about his injured leg. The boy let out a whimper - though James could not decide whether it was due to discomfort or not, and opted to ignore it. It was hard to think with the amount of heat rushing through his body. In fact, the last thing he wanted to do was to think, and he’d much rather let his body do the reasoning. He pushed Q onto his back against the mattress, positioning himself over the hacker as he pulled his trousers off and fumbled to remove the towel around his own waist. He leaned in for another crushing kiss, letting his hands roam voraciously over every inch of youthful, supple flesh that he could reach as the boy gasped against him. He could feel himself become enveloped by a crushing need to have Silva’s hacker for himself, and he almost felt as if he was becoming smothered by his own lust. He could wait no more. 

Strangely, Q’s body became limp and doll-like as James pushed his thighs apart, no longer actively responsive to his touch. He was making absolutely no move to help or hinder, but was instead still and pliable, allowing James to do as he would with his body. James paused briefly to look at his face. 

He was startled to see how blank Q’s eyes looked.

“Q?"

The boy blinked.

“Yes, 007?” he asked. Lying there on the sheets, prone and vulnerable, he looked so... _small_. So _breakable_.

 The thick fog of desire dissipated almost as quickly as it had overcome him. 

With a sigh, James moved off of his hands and knees and re-adopted a regular sitting position on the edge bed. Confused, Q slowly sat up, looking suddenly self-conscious as he pulled the blankets over his bare lower body. 

“Have I...Have I done something wrong?” Q asked in a small voice, and James immediately understood what was happening. 

Q had not been responding to his advances based on his own personal desires. He had done it because he had been conditioned by Silva to do as others wished. He’d kissed James back and had been willing to let him fuck him because he wanted to satisfy him, not because it was something he wanted for his own pleasure or benefit. He’d been taught that he was an object for the use of others. 

“You don’t want this, do you?”

Q looked away.

“It’s all right,” James told him gently, “Do you want this, or not? Answer me truthfully.”

Slowly, Q shook his head.

“I...I don’t. I’m sorry, Agent 007. But I could still-”

“No. That won’t be necessary.”

James quickly got off the bed as Q sat in silence, looking ashamed. The boy glanced back down at his hands as James got dressed, angrily pulling on his shirt and trousers. He admitted that he felt badly about all of this - he was the one who ought to be ashamed, not Q. Q was vulnerable - and he’d known that and had tried to take advantage of him because of it. It’d been terribly wrong of him to even try it, even if it would have made himself feel better about this confusing predicament he’d found himself in. In all honesty, it made him no better than Silva. James may have openly admitted to being a man who wouldn’t hesitate to find pleasure between the legs of another, but _this_ \- someone who would force himself on a vulnerable boy without any real consent as some way of self-justification - this was not the man he wanted to be.  

The fact that Q hadn’t refused him straight out only in hopes of pleasing him made it all the worse. He hadn’t really wanted it at all. And why the hell would he, after everything Silva had put him through? James was becoming more and more disgusted with himself by the second.  

“I’m sorry,” Q repeated quietly, seeming to sense his irritation and likely mistaking himself to be the source, “I really am.”

 “It’s not your fault. Stop apologising.”

 “But, I...You see, it’s not that I’m ungrateful - you’ve been so good to me - but I...I don’t...” Unable to find the right words to convey what he hoped to express, Q trailed awkwardly off.

 “You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

 “I’m really sorry, Agent 007, I - ”

 “I said, stop apologising,” James snapped, “I thought you, of all people, would know how to do as you’re told by now.”

 As soon as the words left his mouth, he deeply regretted having said them.

 “I see,” Q said frostily. The shy, apologetic boy tone was gone almost instantly, replaced by a cold, subdued fury. “I suppose you think I owe you everything, now that you’ve...saved me. You think it gives you the right to patronise me, to give me orders, to treat me like a...like a prostitute. Did you really bring me all the way here just to try to fuck me? You’re pathetic.”

 “That was never my intention,” James protested, stunned and caught off guard by Q’s sudden bitterness.

 “I think,” Q replied, rather haughtily, “That you’ve forgotten that if it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead by now. Mr Silva would have killed you long ago.”

 “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this mess at all in the first place, you arrogant little shit,” James snarled. He was beginning to become increasingly annoyed by Q’s nerve. He supposed all prodigies were the same, entitled and full of themselves, even after spending over a decade in the clutches of a psychopath.

 “Then why don’t you send me back!?” Q demanded, his voice rising with anger as he pulled his trousers back on and stumbled off the bed towards James, “Go on. Send me back to Mr Silva. Get rid of me, if I’m such a burden! Just don’t act like you’re such a bloody martyr. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you’re just as bad as Mr Silva and the rest of his thugs.”

 “My orders were to kill you!” James shouted. Something in him had burst, and there was no holding back the tide of words now. “I didn’t have to do any of this for you! I could just snapped your scrawny little neck at any time I wanted and spared myself from all of this trouble. But I didn’t. I let you live. I disobeyed my superiors for you, I broke protocol for you, I did all of this - all of this for _you_.”

“What?” Q scoffed, unimpressed by James’ revelation, “You let me live so you could _fuck_ me? My hero. How very gallant of you.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.”

 “I think I at least have the right to a straight answer, you utter bastard,” Q spat out, and in a sudden, rather childish fit of fury, he lashed out and slapped James across the face.

 James had to admit he was surprised and caught off guard by the slap, but it had little substance to it and hardly even stung. Even Q seemed shocked at his own actions. He’d probably never tried to fight back before. But, obviously displeased at what little effect had been achieved, he let out a frustrated scream before throwing himself at the agent, beating his fists furiously against him. Each blow glanced harmlessly off James’ body - the poor hacker barely had any strength to kill a fly - which only seemed to make Q angrier. 

Honestly, James didn’t blame him. He knew why Q was so frustrated. After everything he had been through, the boy was utterly terrified that he had only managed to exchange one Silva for another. He had been trying desperately to feel as if he wasn’t completely powerless - and he was failing.

James grabbed Q by the wrists, and the hacker struggled furiously, kicking at James and letting out a stream of colourful obscenities as the agent wrestled him backwards, pinning him back down against the bed. Q yelped in pain as he landed on the wrong side of his injured leg, his movements becoming frantic.

"Let go of me!” he shrieked, thrashing ferociously, “What makes you think you have the right do this!?”

“You need to calm down,” James told him, keeping him firmly restrained against the mattress, “And I’m not letting go until you do.”

 “No!” he screamed, “Get your hands off of me!” He was becoming hysterical now, his voice raw with terror as his anger quickly dissolved into full-blown panic. It hurt, oddly enough, to think that the boy believed James was still trying to force himself on him and was scared out of his mind. “For God’s sake, let go of me!”

 “Q. Calm down. You have to calm down.”

“ _Please,_ ” Q sobbed, and James felt something deep within him twisting painfully at the wretched, desperate sound as the boy struggled feebly against the mattress, “Please, don’t, I’m begging you...”

“It’s all right,” James murmured, “I’m not him, remember? I’m not Silva. I’m not going to hurt you. Nobody is. You’re safe here. Calm down.”

Q went still, searching James’ face with wide eyes that were rapidly filling with tears despite his best efforts. He was silent for a long moment, breathing heavily. Once again, he had become that frightened, lonely boy who was scared to death of Raoul Silva and had nobody to turn to.

If James had a heart, the look on Q’s face might have broken it.

"Why?” he whispered faintly, “Why did I have to be born to this life? Why did it have to be me?”

Slowly, James released Q, who remained still. He watched the tears running down the boy’s face and felt saddened by the utter sense of helplessness that had seem to overcome the hacker. James pitied Q, he really did. Nobody deserved the sort of life he had been forced to live. He looked so small and fragile in that moment, and James was reminded of just how young Q was. Lying limply on the bed, eyes dulled and cheeks streaked with tears, it was clear to James that Q was tired of fighting, tired of trying to survive. He was ready to give up entirely.

“Come on, now,” James muttered, “Don’t cry.” Gently, he helped Q sit up, propping him comfortably against the pillows. He thought about apologising to Q for his behaviour - trying to push him into sex had been a preposterous idea - but decided to save the apology for later. What he could do for Q now was to be something to hold onto, someone to lean on. He could explain himself and apologise properly when Q felt safe again.

Q clung to him, fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as if it were a lifeline. James put his arms around the young hacker and held him tightly against his chest. The action felt rather awkward, but the last of his concerns at the moment was his personal pride. Q let his face rest gingerly against James’ shoulder, stray tears quickly soaking through the material of the Double-0’s shirt, but James was beyond caring at that point. He let his hand run soothing lines up and down the boy’s back and quietly imagined that he could chase all of Q’s fears away like this.

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?” Q asked, his voice hollow, “Mr Silva won’t let me live if he finds me, and neither will MI6. It’s only a matter of who gets to me first.”

“No, you’re not” James said firmly, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I’m not stupid,” Q mumbled, carefully pulling away from him, “You and I both know that’s not a promise you can keep.”

“That might be so,” James replied, “But it’s not going to stop me from trying.”

Q gave him a brief smile.

“See, 007? Despite what you might think of yourself, you _are_ a good man. I know it. Not a saint, of course - but a good man is all you need to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, about what happened in this chapter...I'm not really satisfied with how I wrote it because I couldn't seem to find the right words to convey what's going on with Bond's feelings in a way that makes sense. He doesn't understand what he feels for Q - what is so different that made him hesitate to kill him in the previous chapter - and assumes it's merely lust, so he tries to act on it to confirm this to himself. I don't like things to be black-and-white, but at the same time, I wanted to establish a contrast between Bond and Silva. As Q said, Bond is certainly no saint and has done plenty of dishonourable things before, but was able to stop himself, whereas someone like Silva would not. I'm not trying to excuse Bond entirely, either, though. I know 007's sexual track record in the films/canon is seen as being problematic by many. While I think the current incarnation of 007 (Daniel Craig's) is rather aggressive with his sexuality, I don't really think he'd be the type of guy to force someone against their will. There's some sensitivity to him, too - which is why I like Daniel Craig's portrayal - that we saw mostly with Vesper, of course, in Casino Royale. And let's not forget that he didn't actually sleep with Camille in Quantum of Solace, either, although the bit with Severine and the shower in Skyfall felt sort of...odd to me?
> 
> I know issues of consent/non-consent are very sensitive and topics, which is why I'm not sure if I should have even gone in this direction in the first place. This chapter was extremely difficult to write and understand that many readers may find it troubling - and if that's the case, I want to apologise immensely. Anyway, I'll stop rambling now...


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